EmptyHand Loser
by El Nino1
Summary: [Update Ch. 11, RoyMarth] Life's not easy when you're a gamer on a losing streak. It gets worse when you have to deal with fighting characters who have wills of their own.
1. prologue

A/N: Note the warnings please. I never said I only wrote about "good" people. Views expressed are varied and part of characterization only. I am not promoting or condemning anything. 

Status: Uncertain -- may not continue. First revision.

Disclaimer: The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

Warnings: mature themes, offensive language, implied homosexuality, minor bigotry, (yuri/anti-yuri, yaoi/anti-yaoi).

Features: Marth, Roy (if continued, may include all)

Comments: Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think. Readers without accounts may email me their critiques.

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prologue

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"Tell me true."

They hadn't changed the carpet in ages. They even had the same wall decorations I remembered as a kid. And the same paint job. Not that it mattered. In the dark, no one noticed the stains on the orange-brown carpet, the graffiti on beige walls, the cracks in the ceiling. No one really cared about the rotting cheese smell of the rubber-on-cardboard pizzas at the food counter, or the sticky soda stains on the tables. So long as they had functioning machines, both vintage and new. So long as the controllers were clean and the screens were high-res, no one gave a flying fuck about the rest.

My palms were sweaty, and the dry taste in my mouth would not leave. I watched as my robotic ninja took two more hits on the screen. My moves kept slipping up. I side-stepped, went for the guard, and instantly, the CPU threw me. Recover, then a dash…right into an unblockable attack. Flashing colors and streaks of lighting flickered wildly. My life bar drained as I stood there, hands motionless on the controls. Game over? Had to be. The CG stage disappeared, replaced by the words, 'You Lose!', accompanied by the little dancing mushroom that always popped up. It only stopped its happy badguy jig every other second to turn around and flash me its ass. Just to mock me.

I stepped back from the machine. Go figure. I was no good at this. I pushed my hands deep into my coat pockets. No tokens left. I glanced around, not sure of what to do.

The air inside the arcade was warm, stuffy, incubated by body heat, and livened by synthetic sonic booms and CG clashes of steel. The sounds were muffled to my ears now. My fingers tingled. It was that familiar feeling, adrenaline fading into disappointment. Frustration edging closer. In semi-darkness, the neon flickering of the game machines lit my way to the exit.

I welcomed cold night air. I pulled the box of cigarettes from my pocket and lit up without breaking my stride. Arcade noise fell away behind me. Quiet night. No more artificial cheese or BO in the air. There were different odors now. The city smelled like garbage. As usual.

Where was I going? My steps came to a halt. I puffed idly on the cigarette, trying to think. Where to go? I had no money. The game machines took all of that every week. I tilted my head back, took in the black sky spread out above, lined by high rooftops.

Time to go home then. What else was there?

It was a long walk on a long path up to a dark house on the hillside. I didn't mind. It was just the price of isolation.

I pushed through the iron gate and made my way to the front entrance through a neglected yard, dimly lit by soft glowing lamps. Leaning against the heavy door, I pushed inside and locked it behind me. I knew these steps by memory, the locks by feel, that way I never had to turn on the house lights.

My steps sounded hollow and deep against the hard floor. The footfalls should have been those of someone of greater weight, but they were mine. The tip of my boot tapped against an object that rolled away from me. I looked. It was a Yoshi egg.

I'd have to talk to them about that. When did they get so careless? Leaving those things out for me to trip over…

I walked on, down the hallway, still in the dark. Everyone was asleep, I assumed. We had a few night crawlers here, but it was late, even for them.

My room was the farthest from the front entrance. I slipped inside and closed the door. Darkness hid the disaster that was my life. I hadn't cleaned in a long time. Silver light leaked in from the window. It had a nice view of the city, if I remembered correctly. I rarely looked.

My computer sat on an old classroom table in the corner. I woke it up and clicked on the music. To the sound of a two-stringed dulcimer, drums and an Asian violin, the exotic female voice carried soft, wailing notes with beautiful resonance. It was an eerie harmony.

I took the cigarettes in hand and shrugged off my coat, tossing it onto the folding chair at the table. I paused. By the window there…

I had a visitor.

"Why the same song?"

He stood with his back to me.

"I like it," I said.

As he turned around, the glow of the computer screen caught an outline of his face. Dark eyes, careful smile.

"She sounds…" he began, tilting his head to the side. "Like a plea."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't understand the language."

He offered the same slight smile I knew. And it could have been disdain or sympathy behind that mask. I just didn't know which.

Moving to stand beside him, I reached out and slid open the windowpane. He watched in silence as I lit up again. Around another cigarette, I mumbled, "What can I do for you, Marth?"

When he didn't answer immediately, I glanced to the side, saw that his gaze had turned to the window again. I tried to read his face, but he gave nothing away. Not until he spoke.

"Some of our members have been missing."

I shrugged. "Yeah. I know. Everyone leaves occasionally for a little while. Nothing wrong with that."

"One of them has been gone for a long time."

Nodding, I blew a trial of smoke out the window. "I know."

"It's been too long."

"What do you want me to do about it?"

Marth was asking a favor and being discreet about it. He didn't want to say it outright, and I almost wished he would. But mostly, I hoped he wouldn't. That way I could ignore it. That way I had no obligation to grant his request, no matter how simple. Or vital.

"There's nothing I can do," I said. "He'll come back when he wants to."

"It's been weeks!"

"Roy's like that," I replied stoically. "You know that."

"He's never been gone this long."

I took a drag from the cigarette, tried to think of something to say. "He'll come back when he's ready to."

"You don't know where he is, or what happened to him, but you believe that?" Marth demanded. Anger and worry made him bold.

I didn't answer. In the time it took me to smoke until the brand label on the cigarette had burned away, I answered his question with silence. He continued to watch me. I snubbed the cigarette remains into the ashtray on the windowsill and waited for his display of defiance to subside. My eyes were on the urban skyline, and I sighed, crossing my arms, wishing I were somewhere else. "What do you want me to do? Like you said, I don't know where he is. So I can't just go out and bring him back."

From the corner of my eye, I caught Marth turning away.

"If it were me," he whispered after a moment, "would you feel the same as you do now?"

"You wouldn't leave," I said flatly. In the distance, the city lights were shimmering. I watched them, not him. "There's nothing to see out there anyway," I said. "It's an ugly world we're born into."

He kept his eyes on the floor. I couldn't tell if my words had sunk in or not. I waited for a comment, but he offered nothing, and I turned from the window.

"You guys are lucky you don't have to bother with the real world," I assured him, taking a seat at the table. I was too tired for this, and I wanted to drop the matter. I set my fingers on the console and hoped that the sound of clicking computer keys would cue the end of the discussion.

But Marth was determined.

"Why do you do this?"

I kept my back turned, didn't answer.

"Why do you spend all your days in bed? Why do you wake only during the night?"

My fingers resumed their motions on the keyboard. Behind me, I could sense his frustration. And his desperation.

"How long has it been since you've seen any of us? And how long since you've tended to the house?"

A low empty laugh escaped my throat. I couldn't help myself. How funny…

"I can barely tend to myself," I murmured.

"We worry about you," he insisted. "I worry about you. How can you care for us if you don't care for yourself? Things fall into disarray when you're like this."

I laughed the same soft, hollow laugh. I laughed the air out of my lungs. And continued laughing. "Don't pretend you need me."

Clothing rustled, barely audible, and he was kneeling down beside my chair. His hand latched onto the end of my shirt. His eyes seemed to search my face for moment. I still refused to look toward him.

"If I ask you something, will you tell me true?"

My eyes stayed on the screen. Opened wide. Waiting.

"Tell me," he pleaded. "Will you do nothing for us? Will you do nothing to help yourself?"

I stared straight forward until my eyes began to dry out. Tried to ignore the breaking in his voice.

"If you care nothing for us, and you care nothing for yourself…what will become of this house?

"Tell me. Are you still our master?"

He leaned his forehead into my side. Teeth clenched, jaw going rigid, I held still and worked on breathing. 'Goddamn…' I blinked, and it felt raw.

Finally, I turned to look down at him. "Pathetic," I whispered, voice cracking. "You're really pathetic, know that? Did I train you to be pitiful, or did you come that way? Suddenly, I can't remember anymore."

Words didn't stop the shaking in his shoulders, and all I could think was, 'Why me?' Why the fuck did it have to be me?

"What's wrong with you?" I asked quietly. "Why are you always like this? You're my best trained fighter and still you breakdown like a little crybaby."

I never saw tears like this from anyone else. Not the Pokemon. Not even the girls. Zelda was too proud for tears; Peach, too cheerful. And Samus…Samus was a tough bitch in robo-armor, enough said. But Marth…. He'd had problems since the beginning. Highly susceptible to angst, sucky leader syndrome, and other things. So I had decided not to coddle him, or anyone else. I never went easy, not even on Pichu.

But maybe I demanded too much from Marth. He had shown the most potential in the beginning, so I used him to train the others. He became the best adapted of all my fighters. But I had also turned him into the house punching bag. And I did it too often. While everyone took turns beating him, he also become the most self-defeating. He was physically adept, but powerless at heart.

I guess I broke him. For a while, I had no regrets about it. He was at his best this way.

Then along came Roy.

Someone should have warned me about these things. Then I would have just stuck to training Pokemon. Simpler emotions. Feed them and they're happy. No complicated relationships. Fuck this 'two-steps-down-from-human-emotional-capacity' bullshit.

"Is it because he challenged you?" Marth asked. "Is that why you don't care if he never returns?"

I didn't answer right away. I didn't say what I was thinking: 'No. I'm not mad. Of course not. Why would I be? Just because your asshole boyfriend decided to take me on in a match and undermine my authority in front of everyone…' Monologue of a sarcastic heart.

Someone should have warned me about that too. Not just the possibility of subordination, but also about what happens when you're pairing teams and you pick a pair with high affinity for each other. And then you train them too much, too hard, and they end up spending a little too much time together and stuff happened… Yeah, knowing about that would have helped. The whole bonding thing. I didn't know they were programmed to be fags. Honestly.

"Are you still crying?" I asked in monotone.

He tightened his hold on my shirt. "Please." A whisper.

I sighed. What did I owe? What did I owe to him? Had he given me more victories, I would have known the answer to that. Had I been assured of his loyalty, I wouldn't have had to treat him like this. But it was common knowledge. Bonding within the ranks threatened the authority of the master.

What did I owe?

Without thinking, my hand rose and landed gently on top of his head. Real hair. Real skin. Real life?

"'Beautiful,'" I said.

Marth lifted his face. "What...?"

"The song," I told him. "That's what it's called."

He searched my face for answers. I was angry. He knew how to wear me down. It was in his nature to fight the inevitable with every last breath in him. I had known that when I chose him. Could I deny that he had served me better than I had served him?

But he knew me. He knew I would do anything to keep him from leaving.


	2. chapter 1

_Acknowledgements:_ Thank you to _kaorisan_for your comments and encouragement.

_Status:_ Uncertain.  Revised draft.

_Disclaimer:_ The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit.

_Chapter synopsis:_  Zelda pays tribute to the full moon, while Master Hand recounts past mistakes involving Marth and Roy.

**Warnings:  mature themes, offensive language, implied homosexuality, minor bigotry, darkfic (yuri//anti-yuri, yaoi//anti-yaoi).**

_A/N: Thanks for reading.  Feedback by review or email appreciated._

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Chapter 1 [revised]

The Hylian princess knew that sleepless nights were to be expected.  Yet she knew, too, that such nightly vigils did nothing to calm her restlessness.  Her insomnia could not help the return of the one she wanted most to see.  It would grant her peace, if fate decided allow her that one indulgence.  To see him.  Just once more.

Zelda waited for the sounds in the house to die down.  The old mansion's walls were not thick.  The young ones liked to run around at night, protesting their own weariness.  Light shuffling steps indicated that Princess Toadstool was madly giving chase, half laughing and half scolding.  

When all seemed quiet, Zelda turned off the light in her room and stepped out into the dark hall.  Moonlight crept in from the windows as she glided past them, every step a dedication.  She let the edge of her dress slide along the bare dusty floor.  The soft noise it made concealed her footfalls.

The house was not as old as it seemed.  Neglect had caused it to age beyond its years.  If Zelda had not been as light as she was, the floorboards would have creaked.  But even so, despondency clung to the air with a life of its own.  Heavy.  The princess could feel it.  It added its weight to hers.

Burden.  Burden on the caretaker of a house falling.

At the end of the hall, she opened the door to the balcony.  She considered the night for a moment, breathing in the slight chill, waiting to become lighter.  Then, the princess sprung, her feet in black slippers leaving the floor to carry her body into the air.  Her toes tapped against the railing.  Arms raised above her head, twirling, she disappeared in green light and reappeared on the rooftop above.

It was good to fly.  Zelda almost smiled, finding herself with head tilted, eyes roaming the shape of the moon.  It was good to feel light and float as if nothing mattered.  

She knelt down on the flat portion of the mansion roof, her dress fanning out around her.  With the full moon for company, she pulled the ocarina from the velvet sack at her hip.  Clear, somber notes drifted into the night sky.  She played.  She waited for the bounty hunter to come with news of her beloved.

* * *

I would never understand why he chose to hang on to that mistake for so long.  It had cost us all that was left of his honor and mine.  I didn't think he knew just how much I had lost because of his error.  Marth wasn't a fool, so I thought he was beyond these things.  I had expected more of him.

It made no fucking sense.

Roy showed up of his own free will one day in the fall.  The house was busy training for the next season.  Too caught up in the planning and supervising, I nearly forgot that I had sent out a general post, advertising for new recruits.  Of those who answered initially, all had been turned away.  I didn't expect any more to show.

By the time Roy came, I was finalizing the team arrangements.  I considered turning him away because it seemed too late in the training season to take in a new fighter.  But he was resolved, steadfast and confident.  Young too, but not younger than some of the others.  Around the same age as Marth.

There was energy in the way Roy had carried himself.  I decided that it deserved a chance.  I arranged a trial match with Marth, the preliminary test for all potential recruits.  No items, no stage.  It was held in the practice dojo.

In attendance with me were the Princess Zelda, Ganondorf, and Mario.  The others were occupied in training routines, but I saw a Ness and Kirby peeking in from the doorway, curious about the new contestant.  They stayed only until I shot them a look, then they vanished behind the wall.

His offensiveness caught Marth off guard.  But the recovery was quick, and Roy's directness left him open to throws and counterattacks.  Roy refused to go down easily though.  He wasn't as agile or fast as Marth, but he had a strong sword arm.  Picking up on Marth's preferred distancing, he pushed in closer than what his opponent was comfortable with.  Marth had trouble keeping him back.

Ganondorf raised an eyebrow.  Mario blinked.  Zelda remained expressionless.  

Marth won the match, but he'd had to work for it.  After the fighters bowed to each other and took their places on the mat, I glanced toward the other three gathered at the head of the room with me.  Gannon offered a careless shrug.  Mario smiled and winked.  I turned to Zelda, who merely nodded without looking at me.

Their opinions didn't matter.  Only my decisions counted.

"You're in."

I decided to team him up with Marth, who usually only fought solo.  Since Roy was new, I wanted him to learn from my best.  I told him that whether or not I entered him into solo competition would depend on how well he impressed me in team battles.  He accepted my terms.  He signed the contract and sold his life to me in exchange for fame and glory.

Over the next few weeks, Roy placed in the upper-mid tier.  I set him to spar with Marth on a weekly basis.  Outside of this and basic training, they were to practice as a team.

Working closely together, their maneuvers eventually began to mirror each other.  Even though this wasn't ideal in team battle and I wanted to diversify the techniques within each team, I let this situation stand because when they fought as one, it was golden.  Marth dominated the air, and Roy took care of grounded opponents.  I was satisfied overall with their team battles.

But in their sparring matches against one another, Marth continually won.  I couldn't deny it.  Roy was one notch below him in one-on-one fights.  He wasn't fit for solo competition.

But he had wanted the chance.  He wanted entry into my top tier.  Only the fighters in that class were allowed in one-on-one tournament competitions.  So I arranged for him to train with Zelda, who marked the threshold between my mid and upper tiers.  I told him if he could win two out of three in stock-two battles against Marth, I would consider him for higher ranking.

But against Marth, Roy only won one out of three consistently.  He was close every time, but not good enough.

It frustrated him, and I saw that.  He never tried to conceal it.  Rules were rules, I told him.  The success of the house depended on an equal dose of kindness and cruelty.  I denied his entry into the top tier.

At this point, I suspected, Roy had begun to hate Marth.  I saw the evidence in the way he acted around his partner, but I left it alone.  He would have to learn how to deal with his emotions if he wanted to succeed in this business.

Other than that, Roy got along well with the others.  He could talk to the Mario Brothers, play with the Pokemon and the kids, and he even managed conversations with the usually cold Zelda.  He convinced Fox to teach him how to pilot the Arwing, and he could stand up to Ganondorf's occasional bullying.  But he grew tense around Marth, who remained slightly withdrawn and aloof.

The breaking point came while I was gone for a week.  I came back to find that the atmosphere in the house was tense.  No broken furniture or anything, but I knew from the way Marth refused to look me in the eye that something was wrong.

I told him to spar with Roy.  Then I stood to the side and watched as they faced off in the ring.

From the first offensive move, Roy managed to overrun Marth's balance.  And Marth never seemed to regain it.  He continued to make one mistake after another.  His counter-hits missed; he forgot to guard and left himself open.  He lost his sword three times, and each time, Roy would back off just enough so Marth could pick it up again, before launching another offensive.  Roy hit him with attacks that I had seen him dodge with ease before.  The knock-back threw Marth to the floor more than once, and he was slow to recover each time.

I finally called game.  Roy bowed, and Marth still couldn't meet my eyes.  I left the room, seething.

Yes, I knew exactly what had happened between them.  "So that's it," I murmured bitterly to myself.  "Who would have thought?"


	3. chapter 2

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

Chapter synopsis: _A bounty hunter accepts an assignment without pay, and Marth remembers a time when his heart was free._

**Warnings****:  mature themes, violence, offensive language, implied homosexuality, minor bigotry, darkfic (yuri//anti-yuri, yaoi//anti-yaoi).**

Status: _Uncertain.  Revised draft._

A/N:_ Thanks for reading.  Feedback by review or email appreciated._

Tragic Hero

The soft noise of sand grinding beneath heavy shoes distracted Zelda from her music.  She lowered the ocarina and slowly rose to her feet.  The moon sat low in the sky, barely off the horizon.  She watched it, taking a deep breath, then turned around.

It wasn't who she expected.

Falcon nodded at her.  "Princess," he offered in way of greeting.

"Captain."  She returned his use of the honorific, bowing slightly.  

He stepped forward and extended a gloved hand.  The princess saw the pale envelope between his fingers.  She carefully withdrew it from his hand.

Falcon looked on as she delicately worked the letter open.  "If you'd rather be alone…," he said.  But she stopped him with a shake of her head.

"Your presence is fine," she assured him.  "I may desire your assistance."

Silence lapsed between them as Zelda read the letter, the pendant around her neck letting off a soft light.  It wreaked havoc on the night vision tint of his visor, so that Falcon had to switch it off.  Behind shaded glasses, Falcon's eyes watched Zelda's expressions, but she revealed little.

"She would have come herself," Falcon was finally able to say, "but some major bounty just made himself available tonight.  So she sent word to me."

Zelda nodded.  "I understand."

For a moment, neither spoke.  Then it was Falcon who breached the silence once more.  "Sam's got her hands full these days, Princess.  I don't know the details of the assignment, but if there's anything I can do…"

Zelda sighed, eyes closed.  "I have not the means to pay you, Captain."

"I know."

In her mind, Zelda remembered the day she had undertaken a trip into the outside world, a day's ride on the skytram, into the heart of the metropolis.  _"I thought a venture outside would help improve my perspective."_  She had run into Samus Aran (had sought her out, in fact).  They had exchanged promises then.

Zelda reminded herself that it was too early to lose all hope.

* * *

Marth had found Roy watching an old movie by himself, late one night in the general lounge.  He had been sitting on the floor, legs splayed out, leaning back on his elbows.  Marth crept up behind him and knelt down to peer over his shoulder.  Their eyes met in the reflection on the screen, picked up by ambient light in the otherwise darkened room.

They were watching the dramatized trials of an ill-fated prince in exile.  Marth tilted his head to the side in consideration.  He said nothing.  Roy was the first to speak.

"Your namesake had some bad luck, didn't he?"

"That is what makes a tragic hero."

"So what happened later?" Roy asked, eyes still on the screen.  "Do you know?  How does the story end?"

"They never finished the series."

Silence settled between them.

"I can see you as him," Roy said after a while.

"Really?  I'm not like that at all."

"Maybe not.  But you have that air of royalty about you."

Roy repositioned himself, sitting up a little, focused intently on the movie.  He took a can of beer off the floor, hooking his arm around a knee while taking a sip.  Marth didn't move.  

Roy gestured toward the screen with the beer can.  "All except for that one part."

"Hm?"

"Him and that girl.  You and her would never have gotten along in real life."

Marth smiled.  "How do you know?"

"I can tell," Roy said.  "And that part about the deer.  You know when the king shot it down and told the prince to finish it off, but he couldn't.  That's not you either."  He glanced back at Marth.  "You'd kill it without question."

Marth ducked his head.  Roy watched him for a moment before returning his attention to the screen.  He leaned back slightly.  Their shoulders touched.

Marth watched the movie, but it didn't entirely hold his interest.  He'd seen it before.  The light of the screen sharpened Roy's profile, and story images were reflected in his eyes.  Marth took turns watching these things as much as the movie.  

Months later, when he could no longer recognize himself, Marth would remember the comfort of Roy's assertions.

Eyes would follow him through the hallways of the decaying mansion whenever he walked by.  They wanted to know what had happened to their cold, sad prince.  He had been the master's favorite.  But something had gone wrong.

It couldn't have been the rumors that drove Roy to his decision, could it?  The house was coming undone, and no one really knew why.  Their sullen master had grown more and more reclusive.  Marth stayed as silent and withdrawn as ever.  

When Ganondorf intentionally brushed shoulders with him in passing, one day in the dark corridors, Marth had only uttered a polite apology before moving on.

"Had he cared for you, don't you think he would have stayed?"

At the question, Marth's steps faltered, just for an instant.  Pausing, he spared a brief glance over his shoulder.  Ganondorf was neither smug nor malicious.  For once, he held himself upright with an expression on his face that was almost noble in its calm.  The look in his eyes both claimed and denied nothing.  He spoke with the voice of someone who _knew._

The prince turned away and kept walking.  He couldn't see but he could feel the wizard's eyes following his departure.

A year earlier, he wouldn't have believed it himself.  But Roy had taken something with him when he left.

* * *

Samus Aran secured the motorcycle inside the small garage.  She stepped back, her back brushing against the wall in the tight confinement, and lowered the heavy metal door, turning the latch to lock it tight.  A heightened awareness she had developed over the years hinted to her that she was being watched.  But it wasn't accompanied by a sense of threat.  She paused for a moment then turned around cautiously, muscles tensing.

Zelda returned her gaze from across the narrow street.  Aran held up a hand in greeting, and Zelda smiled.  Hands shoved into the pockets of her black jacket, Samus watched as the other woman approached.

Her coat was lavender and long, nearly concealing the heels of her shoes.  Its fur-lined collar parted in the front, showing a glimpse of a pale neck and a jeweled pendant.  Her heeled shoes clipped softly against the concrete.

Samus kept a temporary room in the city.  It wasn't much, but it was all she had to offer.  As she led the princess inside, Samus become aware, not for the first time, that Zelda was of another world.  With elfish features and ghostly movements, the princess was out of place here in the slums of the Mutant City.  Her hair, long and soft gold, was paler than Aran's had been, before the bounty hunter had decided to experiment with a bottle of black dye bought from the corner store.

Zelda declined the obligatory offer of a drink.  She was engaged by the view at the window.  It was late afternoon, and the dull sun shone over the grey monuments of the urban metropolis.  In the distance, structures on the horizon shimmered in mist like the places of fantasy sims.

"You didn't have to come all this way," Samus said, for lack of anything better to say.  

"I thought a venture outside would help improve my perspective," the princess answered.  "Sometimes, I rather like being in the world."

The bounty hunter slumped against the wall, pressing her shoulder into it.  "Some of us don't have a choice," Aran said.  She stood watching the princess, as Zelda took in the streets and buildings outside.  Bland light, filtered through smog and clouds, couldn't dull the glimmering in her eyes.

"I had to see," she told Aran, "I had to see the world to which we lose one another."

"What do you see?"

"I've lost."  Worry tightened the line of Zelda's mouth.

"I don't think he would leave without intending to come back," Aran said.  "I don't think he's capable of that.  And anyway, wouldn't you feel it if something were to happen to him?  Both of you are bound to each other."

"I used to believe that."  Zelda set a hand on the window ledge and gripped it tight.  She bore the tension of a drowning victim, but also a passivity that suggested it was not happening without her complicity.  Her eyes filled with images of steel and concrete.  Machines.  "I don't understand this world," she admitted.  Then she turned to Samus.  "I don't understand it, but you do, bounty hunter."

Aran said nothing.  Arms crossed, she stared down at the floorboards.  It was a grey day.  It was a cold day.  No rest for her in sight.  And she was tired.

Zelda's hand reached for her, gripping her arm.  Aran watched the way fingers in lavender folded and took hold of her sleeve.  The weight was lighter than her arm cannon.  

"Samus.  I need you now.  Will you help me?"

Aran managed a crooked smile.  She raised her head to meet Zelda's eyes.  "I guess I can't refuse."

Relief flickered briefly across Zelda's face.  But only briefly.  "I will find a way to pay you," she promised, eyes falling.

"Not necessary," Samus replied almost immediately.  She was rewarded with a grateful smile.  "But I can't promise you anything."

"Also unnecessary," Zelda assured her.  "I have faith."

It was the smile (or was it the hold on her arm?) that radiated warmth through her veins, straight to Aran's heart.  It was something, or else her pulse would not have quickened.

* * *

They wouldn't speak until the film's ending credits had started scrolling up the screen.

"The deer," Marth had said to Roy, eyes downcast.  "I used to have dreams that the deer was really a man.  I think in reality it must have been, and they changed that part of the story when they made the movie."

He could feel Roy's gaze, fixed onto him.  There was low-toned laughter.  Marth looked up.

"That doesn't surprise me," Roy said.  He offered a sly grin, which Marth returned with a ghostly smile.  "When you dream about something like that, it must be true.  No one would imagine it like that in their fantasies, not even in dreams."

That place where their shoulders touched—Marth leaned further into it.  He chuckled quietly to himself, head ducked down.  "You," he murmured, "have a way with your words."

Roy's breath slid warm on the top of Marth's head, disturbing soft strands of hair.  "I don't care about the deer," he said.  "Had it been a man, you would have killed him too."


	4. chapter 3

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

Chapter synopsis: _Where is Roy?_

**Warnings****: mature themes, violence, offensive language, implied homosexuality, minor bigotry.**

Status: _First draft._

A/N:_ Thanks for reading. Feedback by review or email appreciated._

------------------------------------------------------------------------

ENTER PITFALL

Master

When I was young, I used to think everything was a test. This was okay. I was good at tests. I turned everything into a game. The world made sense this way.

I put away the games when I put away my childhood. Even now I don't know why. I thought I could live without them. I thought wrong.

I was not young and I was not old when virtual reality started getting big and the Net cities were growing. The first time I jacked into a cyber metropolis, I immediately found my way to the battle arenas. There I watched the kids duel with their monsters and pocket fighters. I wanted to play then, but I was already too old.

Not far from the arenas, I could usually find the dark carnivals, where the adult games were played. I haunted that sector in Mute City whenever I was bored and it was late and I was alone in my room with my computer, my deck, and the only thing I could think of to do was to jack into cyberspace and forget about the pathetic life I lived, trapped in flesh and bone.

And so wandering the dark carnivals, I met a princess with blue eyes and gold hair. She wore a tattered pink dress, gloves to the elbows, and she worked a small stand by the poker tables.

"Would you like a try?" she asked pleasantly, one hand sweeping over a set of face-down cards lying on the table. I guess I was her only customer in a while.

"No thanks," I meant to say. Instead, it came out, "How do I play?"

"Match any two cards," she said. "You have two tries."

I turned over a flower and a treasure chest on the first try. Then I came up with a mushroom and a star. I slipped her another coin to play again. This time I matched up two treasure chests.

"What do I win?" I asked with a sly grin.

She considered me for a moment. Something was going on behind those blue eyes. She was sizing me up.

Then it occurred to me. "You're hacking my account, aren't you?"

She didn't reply. She only closed her eyes briefly. Then, pulling out a pen, she took one of the cards on the table and scribbled something down. She slipped the card between my fingers. It was a flower card, and she had written an address on it.

"Your prize," she said cheerfully. "You're now the master of the house. Come visit me. My name is Peach."

Roy

He wiped at his lip with the back of his hand. It came away with blood. He swallowed, tasting warm copper. He waited for his eyes to regain focus before he rose to his feet.

Two were dead or unconscious. One of them, propped against a bloodstained wall, had fallen into sitting position, head hung loose. The other lay sprawled on his back. The third…

Roy turned, searched around with his eyes. The third had run off.

His adrenaline rush was waning. Now he began to feel his body, and it hurt. He stood still for a long time, quietly regarding his handiwork. They had been so confident in themselves. They had underestimated him. This darkness, this hidden place between crumbling structures, half buried in garbage, this hellhole had belonged to them. He wiped his sword with the edge of his cape and sheathed it.

They had mistaken. This place belonged to him too.

He turned his back and walked on. His boots sloshed through water and sludge, the leakage from open sewers. He was tired. He considered his options while following the dim trail lit by dying yellow lamps. There was nowhere to go, and all he wanted now was to rest.

Pitfall was like a labyrinth. In the dying metropolis, its inhabitants scurried like rats through narrow streets, heads covered, eyes on the ground. A few passed him in the night, but he didn't pay them any attention. He walked, head up, eyes forward. Without intending it, his steps led him to a building. It was the same as the rest of Pitfall, crammed between other structures, carved into the skeleton of a city eroding from neglect. The only thing that identified it from the indistinguishable mass of urban concrete and waste was a crooked sign hanging overhead. The faded letters spelled out, _Ninth Gate._

_Better than nothing,_ Roy figured, and pushed through the door.

It was loud. At least to his tired ears. And not much brighter than the streets outside. Wincing, Roy shuffled through the crowded bar. The unexpected warmth of body heat made his face flush. Being out of the cold was a good thing, but the smell that came with it wasn't.

He pushed his way to the bar. He ordered the only thing they served, and waited for the barkeeper. A noise from behind him caught his ears. He turned.

At a corner table, the dark wizard was laughing. A few others had gathered there, watching as he shuffled cards. On the table, close to his arm, sat a small black box. The box held Roy's attention, and the dark wizard caught him staring. The wizard made a gesture, offering him a place at the table, but Roy ignored it. The wizard was a strange magician who sold pills with varying effects. The most popular drug in Pitfall was Amnesia. A lost program could erase its memory and reset, start the game all over again.

He had been offered it once. And he had declined. There were things Roy still wanted to remember.

The warm atmosphere of the bar made him heady, drowsy. His surroundings grew hazy; the noise faded. He was somewhere else. Lying beneath a night sky filled with stars, his head on the softest pillow imaginable. A hesitant hand reaching for his own.

_"I never lie."_

Then, from the place in between sleep and wakefulness, Roy noticed someone taking a seat next to him. It was someone he knew, and the bar came back to him with a jarring rush. He shook his head. Then he managed a grin.

"Captain Falcon."

The bounty hunter nodded. "Roy." He ordered drinks for both of them.

"What are you doing here?" the swordsman asked bluntly.

"Just getting a drink."

"There are better places to get a drink," Roy said.

The captain nodded in agreement. "I know. But where else can you find renegade programs? Everyone's scrap and garbage ends up here."

"Naturally," Roy responded, a little annoyed.

"The perfect place for someone like you," Falcon continued. "Scrap program designed for only one thing: fight."

Roy let that comment linger between them. He sipped his drink. "Then what's high-class shit like you doing in a place like this?"

The captain smiled. "Shifting through garbage."

Roy set down his glass and leaned forward, tone of voice serious. "Is this some sort of a coincidence? Who sent you?" The question resonated hope.

"The master thinks it's about time you came home."

Hope died. Roy laughed. "Who do I look like? Link?"

The captain didn't respond.

"No," Roy said heatedly. "You can tell the master that I've got plans that don't involve him."

Falcon looked at him for a long moment. "You know you can't do anything else," he said. "Fight is all you know."

For some reason, this calmed Roy. "It's all you know too, Falcon."

"Not really. I'm a hunter. I get paid to find runaway trash like you."

"Yeah, yeah," Roy said. "You _act_ like you're your own man. You've got some of your own cash and AI citizenship in Mute City. So what? You're still the master's property."

Falcon tried another route. "What about Marth?" he asked after a minute of silence.

Roy's hands clenched into fists. "What _about_ him? Everyone's always worried about Marth. If he wasn't already broken, you'd swear he'd break every time you looked at him the wrong way."

"So you're saying he means nothing to you?" Falcon asked. His voice was strained.

Roy couldn't read the other man's eyes because of the visor on his helmet that always hid half his face. How did he see in the dark? "Marth made his choice," he said finally.

When Falcon offered no response, Roy stood up. "I'm glad we had this little chat. Go back and tell _your_ master what you want." As he turned to leave, Falcon's voice stopped him.

"Someday, Roy, you're gonna be the old bum in the corner of the bar, crying over 'the one' you let go."

Roy glanced over his shoulder. "We'll see, Captain."

Falcon watched as he walked away, stopping by a table where men were playing cards with an old wizard. Roy slipped a coin across the table, and the wizard grinned, opening a small box to him. Roy snatched something out from it and stashed it into a pocket.

Falcon watched him leave. He thought of a prince and a princess waiting in a lonely house. _Damn,_ he thought.


	5. chapter 4

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

**Warnings****: mature themes, violence, offensive language, implied homosexuality, minor bigotry.**

Status: _First draft._

A/N:_ Thanks for the reviews. I really do appreciate it. (Someone requested Roy/Marth action. Next chapter. Promise.)_

CHAPTER 4  


SAMUS

There was no one to greet her when she arrived. Duffle bag in hand, she let herself in through the front door, into the main lobby. The large house seemed mostly quiet. But Samus could hear the distant sound of hammering.

She followed the noise to the gallery, where the master's collection of trophies was stored and displayed. There she found that major construction efforts were underway. Clad in white workers' aprons and gloves, Peach, Zelda and Marth were in the process of cleaning and repairing the displays. Peach noticed her first.

"Samus!" she cried from where she was dusting off a fire flower trophy. The other two turned toward the doorway. Marth was polishing a display case, and Zelda had been trying to pound a nail into the floor.

"Hey." Samus offered a hasty bow in the presence of royalty. "What are you guys doing?"

"Oh, just some cleaning that's been overdue," Peach answered. She made her way over, duster in hand. "How are you? Have you come to visit with us for a while?"

"Yeah. I'm putting myself on vacation."

"Have you been sick?"

"Not really," Samus admitted with a slight laugh. "I'm just taking a break from work." She glanced around the room. "What's been going on here? Besides the remodeling."

"It's the off-season," Marth offered. "So it's been pretty quiet."

"Yes!" Peach chimed in. "Almost too quiet. Everyone's gone off to handle their own business."

"Is no one staying here?" Samus asked, feeling odd.

"Well, Ness and Young Link are here most nights," Peach said. She tapped her finger against her cheek, thinking. "There's the Ice Climbers and the Pokemon."

"Ganondorf is here," Marth added.

"Bowser and Donkey Kong and Yoshi…no, Yoshi went with Mario and Luigi…"

Samus passed her eyes over the three of them. Something was wrong here. One crown and two tiaras, alone in a house with some kids, pocket monsters and an evil Gerudo. "The master?" she asked.

Peach's reply was erased by heavy pounding as Zelda hammered the nail all the way into the floor. Samus watched her as she stood up, straightening her aprong. "The master comes and goes," Zelda said curtly. "We rarely see him for any significant amount of time."

The princess seemed subdued. This was nothing new. During their recent correspondences, Zelda had never seemed happy. Now, knowing she had the power to change this, Samus told herself to be patient, to wait for a private moment alone with the Hylian princess. Nodding, she turned to Peach. "What about Mario and Luigi?"

"It's the start of the racing season," the princess explained. "They're out touring right now."

"Oh," Samus said. They had to make money somehow. But the situation still didn't seem right to her. "No wonder no one's here to help you guys."

"It's all right," Peach proclaimed, hands on her hips. "We're fairly self-sufficient."

Marth's smile was a little strained.

"I didn't mean to imply otherwise," Samus said.

"Well then." Peach tucked the duster into an apron pocket and clasped her hands together. "Shall I show you to your room?"

"I'll do it," Zelda cut in. She set down the hammer and removed her apron.

"All right," Peach agreed. "Now I'll have one more person to cook for. I'm expecting you to join us for dinner, Ms. Aran."

"Of course," the bounty hunter replied with a sincere smile. Then she turned and followed Zelda out the door.

The walk down the corridor was silent, Samus entirely aware that her eyes memorized the way Zelda moved ahead of her, that well-bred grace and subtle elegance. Her gut clenched. She remembered the letter in her pocket.

"You're lucky," Zelda said, opening a door. "We just cleaned these rooms the other day."

Samus stepped inside and dumped her bag onto the bed. Half-heartedly, she gave the room a quick visual inspection. More silence settled between them. Finally, Zelda turned to leave. "Let me know should you need anything."

"Wait." Samus reached into her jacket pocket. "I have something for you, princess." She withdrew the small white envelope and passed it gently into Zelda's hands.

"What is it?"

"Open it."

As Zelda worked open the envelope and pulled out the note, Samus couldn't help the grin that broke across her face. Zelda's eyes grew wide. "Is this…?"

"He should arrive later today," Samus said gently. Zelda looked at her, teary-eyed. Samus waited for it.

"Thank you, Samus. _Thank you."_

Then… _There._ That smile. That made it worth the trouble.

PEACH

_She's happy,_ Peach thought, as Zelda glided back into the gallery. The Hylian princess was smiling, a simple and content smile. She danced.

"Zelda…?" Peach ventured carefully. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

In response, Zelda only giggled. Peach exchanged curious looks with Marth. Then, before she could say anything else, Zelda had linked arms with her on side and with Marth on the other. Zelda drew all three of them together.

"Read this…" She passed a note to Marth.

His eyes fell over the words. Then he seemed stunned. "You've heard from him," he murmured softly.

Peach threw her arms around Zelda's neck. "Yay! Zelda! I'm so happy for you!"

"I'm happy too," Zelda managed in a whisper.

MASTER

The streets were busy by the time I got out. Business traffic, for the most part. I tried to avoid getting jostled by briefcases and shoulder bags as I moved through the crowds, hunched over in a black coat, hands in pockets. Pichu sat, perched on top of my shoulder. He seemed to enjoy the view from up there, even though I ignored him. I had other things on my mind.

Up ahead, the park came into view, and I trudged toward it.

It had been a long time since I last came here. It used to be that I was always here. Empty swings; empty slides and play bars. No one came here for the sand pit. That was just decoration. It was the game tables that were always full. Today, the crowd consisted mostly of older men playing cards, chess or checkers. Traditional games were back in style again. None of new gaming fads occupied the tables. No battle monsters or robots. Nothing fancy. This place had turned into an old-timer's home somehow.

One table was occupied by a fox-girl playing chess with a Toad. I stood by and watched. Her right hand grasped the bench where she sat while the left moved pieces on the board. Her concentration was entirely on the game, but once, I saw her eyes glance in my direction. She seemed the fight off a smirk, and then lazily waited for Toad to make his next move.

His white knight captured her black bishop. After a moment, I realized that Toad had lost. He realized it too, when she moved her rook. "Game," I murmured.

"Check."

He cursed. She smiled. Cocky, as always.

He ran his eyes over the board one more time to made sure. "Good game," he said half-heartedly over a handshake. Then he left, and I took his seat. Her eyes were laughing at me.

"Well, what's this?" she said. "I haven't seen you in forever. I thought you must have died and someone forgot to tell me."

"Hello, Crazy."

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Here and there."

"Doing _what?"_

I shrugged. This disturbed Pichu, who leapt for the more stable ground of the table between us.

"Pissing around," she answered for me. "I know how you are."

"What have _you_ been doing?" I countered.

She held up both hands and made sweeping gestures around her. "This _is_ what I do."

"Then I see we're on the same level."

She threw her head back and laughed. It wasn't a harsh laugh, but it wasn't innocent either. Our meetings had a way of getting bittersweet pretty quickly. "That's where you're wrong!" she declared with a wide grin. "I am superior to you in all ways imaginable."

"Right," I murmured with sarcasm.

"Admit it," she said. "There's only one genius in the family, and it's me."

I sighed, drumming my fingers on the tabletop. Pichu rubbed his ears and beamed at the both of us. Crazy reached over to pat him on the head.

"Rivalry never gets old, does it?" I said.

Crazy shook her head, cuddling Pichu in her lap. "No," she said flatly.

We'd fought over toys since we were kids. Back then, we only had one game deck, one set of controls. So we used to play as a team, she on the left controller, me on the right. It was lucky we weren't both right-handed. Together, we battled on the Net that way, as a pair. All our victories and defeats were shared, until Tournament Royale, when we managed to win a separate deck as a prize. The partnership divided after that.

Since then, Crazy still played single-handedly, with one glove. It became her trademark.

"I don't ever see you online anymore," she was saying now. "I thought you were done with gaming. Ever since the Melee Championship, and that was two years ago."

I said nothing.

"I thought this was something you actually enjoyed. What happened?"

"Life happened."

She glared at me over Pichu's head. She knew exactly what I was talking about. "Goddamnit. You're an idiot."

"Maybe," I agreed.

"Maybe? Maybe it's time you _forget about her."_

Again, I said nothing.

"How long does it fucking take?"

Ignoring the question, I keyed through the boards, switching the tabletop from chess to checkers, to poker…. "I didn't come here to discuss the past," I murmured.

"Then why are you here?"

I finally settled on a board. "I came to challenge you to a match."

That got her interest immediately. She straightened up. "What game?"

"Something simple and quick," I said, calling up cards through the tabletop. "How about blackjack?"

"Okay." She eyed me warily. "What for?"

"We'll make it interesting." I stared down at the deck of cards. This had been a long time in coming.

Crazy watched me carefully. "What are you thinking?" she demanded.

I cut the deck. "Tell me when to stop," I said. My voice was low. "The prize is my house. Winner takes all."

SAMUS

Some things in life weren't fair, she thought. This was one of those things.

Before her, Zelda stood alone in the moon-drenched terrace, overlooking the hill. Samus tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. Instead, she allowed the sound of her boots, crunching on gravel, to announce her approach. Dressed in icy blue, pale and ethereal, Zelda was watching the stars.

"It's getting late," Samus finally said.

No response.

Samus tried something else. "I'm sure he had a good reason…" Zelda turned around then, and the look in her eyes stopped the bounty hunter from continuing further.

"I know," the princess said. Samus couldn't tell if that reluctant smile was a lie. "I know there are more important things in the world than my own selfish desires."

Link had some explaining to do, Samus thought. "Who knows?" she said, trying to formulate excuses for him. "Maybe he was on his way over here when a cat got stuck in a tree, or some farmer lost her chickens, or those cow-abducting aliens showed up and some villagers needed his help—"

Zelda surprised her by latching onto her arm. "Walk with me," she said abruptly.

They took the gravel path that wound around the manor house, their way lit by small ground lamps. The trees stood like skeletal figures. Without the Mario brothers, the upkeep of the garden had been slacking. But Peach had recently pledged herself to the maintenance of the yard, and her efforts showed in the leaves swept off the path, the continuous chain of glowing lights.

Zelda's presence on the bounty hunter's arm was slight, but difficult to ignore. The princess was lost in her own thoughts, and Samus didn't feel like breaking the silence between them. She knew that her company was not the one Zelda wanted. But somehow, playing the role of the substitute didn't seem all that bad. She tried to come up with words of comfort—_don't worry, it's not so bad, it could be worse, at least you're not in Marth's position_—and failed. So they continued in silence.

Samus looked up when Zelda stopped. They stood in front of the large stone well in the backyard. Samus noticed that a thick circle of wood had been laid across the opening with rocks piled on top of it. Zelda broke away to walk up to the structure and place her hand on top of the cover.

"He has yet to return home after so long," she mused. "But I feel that you have come in his place."

"I don't think I can replace the Hero of Time," Samus said.

"No. But you are a legend in your own right."

"And so are you," Samus replied, realizing that her voice had turned softer. She stared at the pile of rocks. "Zelda…" The princess turned. "Why is the well covered?"

Zelda didn't answer immediately. Silence lapsed between them. And then, from the depths below them, came a strange sound, like metal grinding metal. It took a moment for Samus to recognize it as seering shriek. Then something slammed into the cover of the well from below, thudding dully against wood, shaking the rocks that kept the cover from lifting.

"Zelda…" Samus stepped forward. The princess hadn't reacted to the sounds, to the dull pounding. "Be careful." Samus had to take her by the arm to draw her back from the well. "What was that?"

"We have an infestation problem," Zelda said simply.

"What kind of an infestation problem?"

"A few days ago, three of them managed to break through the barrier and enter the house. We were able to dispose of them, but Ness has been having nightmares, and whenever Young Link sees one he freezes." She looked up at Samus. "No matter how many we kill, they keep coming back. If we fail to tackle the problem at its source, they will come again." Her eyes fell. "I know I've asked favors of you before. I know you came here to rest. However…"

"No," Samus interrupted gently. "I understand. I'll help." She had a duty, even if it was as Link's replacement.

Zelda seemed relieved. "Thank you," she said at length. "Tomorrow then, you and I, we hunt the re-dead."


	6. beneath a grey sky: roymarth

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

**Warning: homosexuality.**

Chapter 5

Beneath a grey sky, the air hung heavy. Marth made his way up the barren hillside, wrapping his cape around himself against the cold. Wind pushed his hair into his eyes, and he had to brush it aside to look on ahead. There was the ruined shrine, as promised, on the hillside, overlooking the landfill.

The old structure presented itself in neglected glory, a lonely temple to a forgotten god, with a hole in its roof, a pile of rumble by the collapsing door. Between this and the wasteland below, it was hard to tell who had abandoned who first. Pitfall was a place between worlds, without structure or form. It collected the things that the world had tossed away. Criminals, outcasts, sadists and lunatics all found refuge here, to consolidate the collective filth. And Marth had come here to find something he had lost.

Tired from a day of wandering dirty streets, he came to a stop. On a large boulder in front of the shrine, there sat figure in a brown cloak, legs folded beneath him in a meditating position. His head was covered by a hood, concealing his face. Marth caught a glimpse of the hilt of a sword between the folds of the brown cloak. His breath hitched because he knew that elaborate design. He edged closer.

"You must be lost," said the cloaked man. The voice was low and unrefined. He didn't lift his head; he didn't move at all.

Marth swallowed the lump in his throat. His heart had suddenly started to beat a little faster, but he spoke with a steady voice. "How would you know that, sir?"

"There's nothing up here."

"Really." Marth watched him carefully. But the figure was like a statue. "I was told there was something of interest to be found by the abandoned shrine on the hillside."

"As you can see. There is nothing here."

"But I do see something."

A dry laugh. "What do you see?"

"I'm looking for a man—"

"You'll not find him here."

Marth smiled. "He is a dangerous man. They say he is one of the best fighters in the area. They say he kills indiscriminately and without remorse. They even say he has spilled more blood than whole armies." There was a hint of a smile on that partially revealed face. It did not escape Marth's notice. He took a breath and went on, "I was told he has no home except for this old temple on the hillside. They say he is a bad man, hard to approach, friendless. And they say he has no name."

"There are many men," said the cloaked figure, "like that in this area. What is so special about this one?"

"This one is the worst of them all."

"And what would you want with him?"

"That should be obvious." Marth's hand fell down, resting at his sword. He squared his shoulders, lifted his chin. "I came to challenge him."

A short pause. Something moved beneath the cloak. Fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword. "If what they say is true, that is a stupid thing to do."

Without warning, he jumped down from the rock. Marth had a second to rush forward and stop the hand that was drawing the sword before the blade fully revealed itself. For a moment they were locked together, and with his spare hand, Marth brazenly pushed back the hood of the cloak.

_How did I know? _he wondered.

Roy shoved his shoulder into Marth's chest, pushing him back. Marth fell, rolled, and landed in a crouch. He looked up as he heard the sound of the blade being drawn.

"And here I was hoping to spend a day in quiet meditation."

"My apologies for the disturbance," Marth said breathlessly, hopelessly.

Roy calmly regarded his opponent. His eyes fell on Marth's sword, still sheathed. In Pitfall, all challenges, no matter what form, were taken seriously. "Do you plan to fight me empty-handed?"

"I don't need this to defeat you." Then he threw himself to the ground, rolling to the side again, as Roy's blade cut down from directly overhead. He got to his feet, backed up, and finally drew his sword.

"So you do need it after all," Roy said. His face was grim.

Marth didn't answer. He settled into stance, his view of his opponent bisected by the length of his blade. _We will never move beyond this,_ he thought. The next strike came fast, a horizontal cut from the side. He blocked it, but it came with stronger force than he expected, knocking him to the side. He skidded, boots digging into the dry soil. Then almost immediately, the follow up came from overhead. Marth met it with his blade. The sound clashed in his ears; the strength behind it rooted him in place. He wouldn't be able to hold; Roy's sword was heavier than his. He aimed a kick at Roy's stomach. It didn't knock him down, but it staggered him enough for Marth to break away.

They circled each other. "Stay back," Marth warned, his voice cold. At this, Roy smirked. "You're the one that challenged _me,"_ he pointed out.

Marth attacked. He feinted from overhead then went to the side. But Roy deflected it as if he had expected it. Marth pulled back and aimed a thrust for the center of Roy's breastplate. Roy managed a parry, and his blade cut a deep gash into Marth's wrist and hand.

Marth broke away. He glanced at the bleeding cut along his wrist, then back at Roy, and calmly exchanged his sword from right to left hand. He didn't have time to think about it, as Roy was already rushing forward, sword swinging. Marth dodged to the side, and the attack went wild. Roy was open just then, and Marth lashed out, quickly, efficiently. Roy had to stop himself in mid-stride, dancing just out of reach, but not enough. The first cut grazed his armor, but the second one, coming just as fast, nipped into the exposed area of his torso before drawing a thin, glancing line across his abdomen. It burned. Roy jumped back, sword raised in guard.

But Marth had stopped just then. "I'm sorry," he whispered, suddenly, inexplicably. Roy heard it. He nodded just once then charged him. Marth blocked high, but Roy went low. Marth gasped in pain and surprise when the edge of a blade slashed his left leg, knocking it out from under him. He fell back against the ground.

"Apology accepted."

Marth rolled over and tried to get to his feet. He nearly buckled at first, but managed to stand, leaning heavily on his right leg. Roy, however, had lowered his sword. He considered Marth in silence for a moment. Then he shrugged and sheathed his sword. Marth blinked, confused.

"You win, princess. I'm out."

"What?"

"You win," Roy repeated.

"Why?" He felt cold everywhere except for his right hand, a source of warmth as it collected blood. One drop at a time, he fed the hungry earth. His world had become fluid. He blinked again, tried to clear his head. _Was it the apology,_ he thought, _that made him back down?_

"Because I say so. Go home and practice. You're obviously not good at this." Roy turned away as Marth, in sudden frustration, flung a handful of blood in his face. The warm droplets splattered on his cheek, against his lip. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, grinning. "Hey, your technique is good, and you're pretty fast, but you're a little predictable."

"To none but you," Marth said lowly. "We've done this before."

"I don't think so. I don't know you."

"No, you don't. Not anymore, though you did know me once. And now, you don't remember much of anything, do you?"

Roy's eyes narrowed.

"You don't remember anything before waking up here. You don't remember where you came from, or why you carry a sword. You don't even remember your name. It's only your body that remembers how to fight!" _And it's only your body that still remembers me,_ he thought,_ that remembers how to fight me._

"Who told you that?" Roy barked.

Marth smiled slowly. Sadly. His head was swimming. "A mutual friend."

Roy stared at him, hard. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

"Someone you knew."

"We…were friends?"

Marth shook his head. His sword slipped from his fingers, and he collapsed to his knees. "No," he choked out. "We weren't." He couldn't bring anything to focus. Everything had blurred. "In fact…I'm pretty sure you hated me."

He would have said more, but the world dissolved away, leaving him alone in the dark.

x x x

"Please stop crying," he said. "Just…stop."

"I'm fine." That composed voice stood in contrast to the tears clouding his eyes.

Roy cursed, leaning back, hands against the floor. He tilted his head to stare at the cracks that covered the ceiling. "Tell me again," he said, exhausted. Gradually, he redirected his eyes to the current company, who was seated on the floor across from him. "What else do you know about me?"

"It is hard for me to say. Our understanding went beyond words."

"You keep saying that, but I don't remember you."

"Roy…" Like a plea.

"That's a name?" he sighed.

"It's yours."

He forced out a bitter laugh. "I guess. If I take you at your word…Marth."

Marth rested his elbow on his knee. His bandaged hand covered his face. "There's too much to say." The hand fell away.

"Hmph." Roy turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I guess it doesn't matter now," he said after a while. "I'm here now. It doesn't matter what I used to be."

Marth's smile quivered a bit. "Of course." He commanded his voice to be stronger. "I realize it was foolish of me to approach you at all. I'm sorry to have bothered you." He rose to his feet. It was a simple motion, but it grabbed Roy's attention.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

Before he had made the conscious choice to rise, Roy already found himself on his feet, moving to block Marth's way to the door. "Wait." It escaped his lips in a rush. Marth simply stared back at him, mouth set to a firm line. Roy didn't know when he had learned to detect pain in those eyes. He just could. Now he fumbled for words.

"Don't say that you came here to start something you can't finish."

But Marth was turning away. "I've said all I intend to say. Your life is your own." His tone grew soft. "I can't tell you why you made this choice. I don't know why you did it. All I can say is that you obviously decided that your old life was meant to be forgotten. And I suppose I was one of those things you wanted to leave behind you."

Roy caught him by the upper arms. In the semi-darkness of the room, he could follow the path of a tear on Marth's face, sneaking like a secret over a cheekbone, down to the jaw. Without thinking, Roy leaned in and kissed it away. Marth jerked back, stunned.

"He—" Roy managed, refusing to loosen his grip, "the other me—he made a mistake…I think."

Two fingers of Marth's hand reached up to stroke the side of Roy's face. "Tell me," he whispered. "Without your memories, who are you? Are you still-" Roy pulled him in and kissed him again.

Surprised, he let the kiss happen. So much was the same, Marth realized. His hands were folded against Roy's chest, unable to pull the other closer or push him away. A tremor had started up inside of him and he couldn't stop it. Their motions were the same as before, chests locked together, quickened pulses millimeters apart. Marth didn't—couldn't—breathe. Urgency struck him in the pit of his stomach; the room seemed to spin. He would wake up soon, he thought, and this would all fade.

As they drew apart, Marth gasped for air. He knew well the eyes that were now regarding him with heated determination. But did they know him?

"Forget him," Roy said. He pressed his lips to Marth's throat, felt his pulse (cursing in the back of his head the other's slight advantage in height). "Forget the other me."

But Marth couldn't forget. As they stumbled together in the dark, he could do nothing but remember. His arms instinctively wrapped around Roy's neck. Roy's hands slipped down to his waist. A simple touch could be a reclaiming. He wondered if he was the only one captured by the old comfort and intimacy. (And underlying grief and hostility.) Was his heart the only one that writhed in agony, danced with joy?

When he fell back against the sleeping mat, bringing Roy down with him, Marth's eyes were stinging with tears again. He looked up, and he meant to say, "Stop." But instead….

"I missed you," he confessed.

Roy smiled down at him. "We just met," he said.

Marth closed his eyes to conceal the breaking of his heart. It drew Roy by invisible strings. Down, down. He kissed Marth's face and soft throat, his hands working their way over folds of clothing, seeking the warmth of skin. Arms clung around his neck again. Lips kissed him back. The deadly fighter beneath him stretched out, back arching, throat exposed. Roy tried to ignore the desperation in the way Marth's hands held on to his shoulder and the back of his neck. He only recognized the mutual need, the quick flicker of a wet tongue against his lower lip, the painful pounding of his heart, the rush of blood as a sound in his ears, and that soothing hum in the back of his head telling him that he was home. But how could that be, when he couldn't remember home?

His hands pulled impatiently at the fabric between them, somehow working the folds and ties with ease, like retracing steps in the snow. In the weak light, his fingertips found the scars before his eyes did. Roy paused, suddenly hesitant. Thin lines, both raised and indented, cut across Marth's lower torso. Roy ran his fingers over them, curious. Then Marth's hand came down on top of his, guiding it to a thicker, rougher scar along the stomach.

"This one," Marth whispered, "was given to me by you."

Roy traced it. It had been a deep wound. The story behind it was lost to him. The other Roy had seen to that. Whether his life was better this way or not, he didn't know. He pressed his mouth to Marth's scarred stomach and worked his way up, along smooth skin that tensed beneath his lips. His hands, however, would not leave the scar. His fingers retraced, re-traveled the trail carved into skin and muscle. He paused again. _What kind of a man,_ he thought, _had taken a blade to this body? And why am I-why are _we_-_

But then Marth's mouth was by his ear, softly moaning his (supposed) name with such urgency that Roy heard nothing else. He closed his eyes, accepted the name (_if that's what he wants to call me…_), and together they fell to a place where scars didn't matter, beyond recollection and pain.

Once again, he kissed the memory the other Roy had inflicted.

"If I keep doing that, do you think it'll disappear?"


	7. beneath a grey sky II

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

Chapter 6

"Stop."

The cards had come randomized, but shuffling was a ritual I usually followed for the meditative quality of it. I dealt them out.

Two cards face-down, then a three of clubs for her, and a ten of diamonds for me.

"Hit."

A ten of hearts landed on top of her stack.

"Stay."

I considered her thirteen. Beneath the ten of diamonds, I had a five of hearts. Fifteen to thirteen plus the one card face-down.

I drew a card: five of diamonds. _Lucky_, I thought almost with remorse.

We showed our hands. Beneath her stack, she had a seven of spades. Twenty-one to twenty.

I had lost.

I exhaled the breath I didn't know I was holding. I had lost. It didn't hurt like I had expected it to. I had just lost everything. It didn't hurt.

Now, was I supposed to be happy, or sad?

"Congratulations." My voice sounded monotone.

"So…that's it?" Crazy said. Her cartoonish, round, blue eyes stared at me. Mild disbelief. And uncertainty. "Your house is mine?"

"Yeah." My breath was short; my words, clipped. Why couldn't I feel anything? Shouldn't I feel something? I didn't.

"And I can do whatever I want with it…?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." Suddenly, those eyes narrowed. "Then I give it back to you."

"What!"

"It's a gift."

"No," I said dully. "No. I don't accept."

"You can't return a gift."

"You can't back out of a bet," I countered.

"I'm not backing out, I'm giving it to you!" Crazy jumped to her feet and slammed both hands palms-down against the table. The noise was so sudden I almost jerked. Pichu startled and shrank back, closer to me. "The house is yours! It's your responsibility!"

"Not anymore."

"No!"

I stared at her. "What's wrong with you, anyway? I thought you always wanted-"

"Not like this. Not over some stupid game of chance."

"Gambling is a skill," I offered.

But she shook her head. "Don't get me wrong. I _will_ take over your house someday. But I want it to mean something."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Goddmmit. It doesn't fcking matter. Just take it. You won."

"No." Her voice came out low, forced and brutal. "Believe me, I'm going to _destroy_ you. But I'm going to do it when you're at your best, not your worst. Otherwise it's _meaningless!_ You don't even care!"

Silence settled as I took a few breaths, planned my next move. "Crazy," I said. "I'm not going to pretend to care just so a victory can have more meaning to you."

"You sshole!" She sounded like she meant it. She closed her eyes. After a pause, they opened, and her voice softened. "What happened to you? You used to be…I don't know. You used to be something else."

"It doesn't matter what I used to be."

"I used to look up to you," she said.

Laughter rolled from my throat again. But it was without humor. "That I don't believe."

"Believe it or not, it's the truth."

I watched as she straightened up, crossing her arms. Her character's facial expression changed into something I couldn't decipher. She could only show changes in expression if she was doing it on purpose. It was something she wanted me to notice. Pity? Maybe.

"Do you remember Virtuoso?" she asked.

"Yeah."

How could I forget? Virtuoso was the first tournament where Crazy and I had entered as separate solo competitors rather than as a team. We met up in the semi-finals. I lost. She went on to win the tournament.

The next day, I packed up my deck and put it in storage. I swore to give up battling.

With a sigh, I stood and gathered Pichu from the table.

"There's no changing your mind, is there?" I asked.

She didn't answer me, but then she didn't have to. We both knew.

I set the rodent on my shoulder, gave my other half one last look, then turned around, shoving my hands into the pockets of my coat. "See you later then," I said. "Come find me when you finally come up with a plan to destroy me utterly, okay?"

Her voice reached out with quiet revelation, absent of pride: "She didn't really love you, you know."

I paused mid-step. "Maybe," I admitted, before I started walking.

The way Crazy said it, it seemed like it had to be true.

x x x

Marth woke up alone. Light was seeping in through the windows. He sat up and pushed down his cape, which he had been using as a blanket. It was cold. He wrapped the cape around himself and stood up, looking around.

Roy had tried to turn the shrine into someplace liveable. There was an old table set up by the crumbling altar, with a couple crates for chairs. In the corner, he kept a stash of various weapons. His sword and armor were missing.

And by the window there, curled up into a ball where a spot of sunlight shone…

"Mewtwo!"

The Pokemon lifted its head with bleary eyes. It yawned.

Marth walked over and patted it on the head. "Good boy." The cat let him scratch behind its ears. "You did well. You found him for me."

The cat purred. It was a deep sound.

"The question is," Marth said, "where has he gone now?"

x x x

The bar was empty except for a few patrons. Roy drank alone at a table, trying to come to terms with the recent disruption to his life. He remembered nothing before this place. He couldn't trust anything that Marth guy was talking about, except for that strange feeling of familiarity that came up when he heard him speak. Roy trusted nothing but his instinct. His instinct told him that Marth wasn't lying. The tears had seemed real enough anyway, not that Roy could tell real tears from fake.

Marth denied that they were friends. They had been something else. They had fought together. Roy was okay with this. He understood fighting. But that "something else" bothered him.

Roy emptied his glass down his throat and reached for the bottle. He was pouring himself another when someone called his name (the one Marth had given him). He looked up. Two men pulled up chairs at his table, looking so much alike that they had to be brothers. One was short and portly; the other was taller and skinnier. The fat one wore red; the skinny one wore green.

"How have you been?" the fat one asked. "We haven't seen you in months!"

Roy stared at both of them. "Do I know you guys?"

x x x

Mewtwo floated into a bar, someplace called Ninth Gate, Marth trailing behind.

The place was mostly empty, so it was easy to spot Roy at a table, in the middle of a card game with a familiar face. Marth looked around the rest of the place. Where one brother was, the other usually wasn't far off.

"Hey, Marth!" A hand patted his back. He turned around startled to find Mario beaming up at him. "This is a strange place to run into you," the short plumber said.

"Yes, I thought you were supposed to be racing…?" _Wait until Peach finds out._

"I was…until someone gambled away the entrance fee." He indicated with a nod of his head where his brother Luigi sat with Roy. "He has until tomorrow to make it back."

"I see." Peach was definitely going to hear about this.

"So we came here for the gambling houses. And we ran into our old friend." Mario jerked a thumb in Roy's direction. "But it turns out he doesn't remember us."

"I know. Something happened to his memory. Mewtwo wasn't able to find out exactly what."

Mario looked sympathetic. "Ohhhhh. So he doesn't remember any of us. Not even you." He thought about it for a second. "Around here, there are drugs that will do that to you." And then, "Does the master know?"

"I don't know," Marth said, suddenly worried. "I don't know if he'll take him back like this."

"Does he want to go back?"

Marth glanced down. "I don't know."

Mario patted him on the arm. "I'll tell you what I know. The drugs they sell here are temporary. Roy may gain his memory back over time. If he doesn't, go find someone who knows potions. Most things are reversible."

A specific someone came to Marth's mind, but he didn't say it out loud. _Had he cared for you…_

"There's one good thing about this," Mario added.

"What?"

Mario waved him closer and whispered in his ear, "He probably doesn't remember that Luigi cheats at cards." He pulled back and laughed. Marth smiled to be polite. Mario headed over to Luigi's table and indicated that Marth should follow.

Roy didn't notice them. He stared intently at his hand of cards. There was a large pool of money on the table between them.

Mewtwo was watching Luigi. Marth turned and looked him. Compared to Roy, he was calm. He looked a little bit confused though, as if he were thinking too hard. It took a few minutes for Marth to figure out that it was probably an act.

"Okay. Show your hand," Luigi said.

Roy gave him a wary look before spreading out his cards. Luigi grinned. He slammed his own cards face up on the table. "Aha! I win!"

Roy cursed. Luigi cheered for himself and started to collect his earnings. "Another round?" he asked.

"No way," Roy murmured, pushing his chair back from the table.

"What? I'm being fair. I'll give you the chance to earn back what you lost."

"Hello, Luigi," Marth spoke up.

"Oh, hi, Marth."

Roy looked at him when he spoke but didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry for this," Marth said to Luigi.

"Huh?"

In a single motion, Marth drew his sword. The tip split open Luigi's left sleeve, and the cards he had hidden there fell out. Everyone froze.

"Er…" was all Luigi could say. Mario smacked himself on the forehead.

"You bastard!" Roy shouted. He jumped up, knocking over the table. Then suddenly, his sword was out too. He lashed out as if he meant to cut the plumber in half, but Luigi managed to block the blade with his chair. He pushed Roy away and took off running for the door.

Roy ran after him. "Come back here!"

They were gone, out the door.

"Eh…Marth, you didn't have to do that," Mario said.

"He should play fair next time," Marth countered. He sheathed his sword.

Mario sighed. He bent down and started picking up the dropped money.

"Half of that is Roy's," Marth said.

Mario collected all of it into his cap and stood up.

"If you need money, just ask the master," Marth insisted. "He'll send it to you. Roy's on his own. He can't-"

Mario pulled a handful of coins from his cap and placed them in Marth's hand. "We have enough, anyway," he said.

x x x

Roy had stopped to catch his breath when Marth came upon him on the empty street.

"The skinny one runs fast," Roy mumbled between breaths.

Wordlessly, Marth took hold of Roy's wrist and turned it over, dumping the coins into his palm. Roy looked mildly surprised. "Thanks," he said. He stashed them away into a money pouch before sinking to the ground. Marth joined him on the curb. Mewtwo settled down next to him.

"You have a pet?" Roy asked, staring at the large grey cat.

"Mewtwo was a gift from the master," Marth explained. He patted the Pokemon on its head. "A special gift. He's the reason I knew about your memory loss."

"That ugly thing?" Roy murmured. Marth only smiled.

The sky above was hazy, brownish grey. The sun had shone for a few hours in the morning, but now it was gone, hidden behind a heavy layer of cloud and smog.

"What happened to the sun?" Marth asked.

Roy shrugged. "That's the way it is here."

"Don't stay here," Marth said. "Come home."

"What home?" Roy asked. "I don't remember anything before this place."

Marth turned his face to the overcast sky. "I think I can help you," he said. "If you come with me, there's someone I know who might be able to restore your memory."

Roy said nothing. He rubbed the back of his neck. Marth waited. "It doesn't matter," Roy said finally. "Maybe I'm better off this way."

"That can't be," Marth whispered.

"From what you told me, I don't think I was too happy before."

Marth stared at him blankly for a moment. "Was it that bad? Was it so terrible you had to throw everything away?"

"You know I can't answer that."

Marth looked away. He didn't see that Roy reached for his hand but stopped himself. "I see. I came here for answers, but you have nothing to tell me."

"I guess you came too late," Roy said. He was smiling though. "Don't let it bother you. We can still have fun."

"What?"

"You came here with your fancy words and your impressive stories about my past life. Don't just leave. Don't go back to him-the master you keep talking about. Here you don't have to take orders from anyone."

Marth tried to smile. "I need it though. Something to serve, whether it's an ideology or a person."

"Hah. And I thought you were a prince. From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were a prince. It's surprising that you'd take orders from anyone."

This time Marth laughed. "I'm a prince without a kingdom," he said, like a confession. "I serve the master. It's all I know." The smile faded from his face. "And then I met you."

"I hope I was a decent person."

"As a fighter, you were spectacular. As a person, you were less so."

"Hah. And you want this person back?"

"Of course. Even if…" His voice trailed off. The next thing he knew, Roy's fingers were clasped around his wrist.

"We're being watched," Roy said lowly, calmly. "I don't like it."

Marth's eyes darted left and right. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. But Mewtwo was watching something across the street. He tried to follow its line of sight. There was someone standing in the shadows.

Roy pulled him to his feet. "Let's go." He turned around and broke into a run.

"Wait!" But Roy wasn't stopping. Marth ran after him, Mewtwo following.

Roy turned into a dark alley. He led them through a series of tunnels and open sewers that were the main infrastructure of Pitfall. Mewtwo followed as if he knew the path already, but Marth could barely keep up. He tried to keep his eyes on Roy's fluttering cape as they took sharp turns in the dark. Water sloshed beneath his boots. The air was muggy and damp. He heard heavy footsteps behind them.

Marth took another turn and found himself in near complete darkness. He reached out blindly with his hands. Something flickered like a beacon in his mind. _Mewtwo?_ he thought. And then a pair of hands grabbed him and pulled him further into the shadows. A voice whispered in his ear, "Shh!"

Out of breath, Marth turned back to the way they'd come, to the only source of light. He still heard the pounding footfalls of someone running. They waited. The footfalls sounded louder. And then a human figure passed in front of the light, a silhouette. Marth couldn't make out any details, but suddenly a vivid image flashed in his mind: a blue suit, a red helmet.

Roy leapt out into the light and attacked.

"Wait!" Marth cried out. He ran out after him.

Roy and Falcon wrestled with each other, trading punches. Falcon, who was taller, tried to shove Roy back against the wall, but Roy drove his fist into Falcon's abdomen. Falcon staggered but didn't fall. He had his arms around Roy's shoulders, trying to push him back, but Roy managed to strike another blow to his stomach. Falcon grunted, but still didn't fall. His hands found a grip on Roy's armor, and he spun around, throwing Roy into the wall. Roy didn't let go, so Falcon slammed him into the wall again and again. Falcon pulled back and spun around again, gaining momentum, and hurling Roy several feet away from him.

Roy tumbled, rolled, and landed on his feet. As he rose, he drew his sword. Falcon was already charging him, fist pulled back…

A swipe from Mewtwo's tail tripped up the bounty hunter and made him fall. Roy had his sword ready by then, but a pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him back.

"Wait! Please!"

Roy managed to break free, but Marth had put himself between him and his target.

"Stop! I know him!"

Falcon stood up. He kept his distance. Roy stared him down. He made no move to attack again, but Roy didn't sheath his sword.

"You know him," Roy said to Marth. "You know everyone today." He kept an eye on Falcon. "Who are you and why are you following us?"

"Roy," Marth tried to explain. "This is Captain Falcon. You knew him from before."

Roy glared at the bounty hunter.

"He's lost his memory," Marth said to Falcon. "I'm afraid he doesn't remember us."

There was a long moment of silence. Falcon eyed Roy. "The master's gonna hear about this," he said.

"What do you want?" Roy asked bluntly.

"From you," Falcon said, "nothing." He looked at Marth. "I'm here for you."

Marth wasn't surprised. "For me."

Falcon nodded. "You snuck out without permission. That's against the rules."

Marth said nothing.

"The master's not too happy about that. I think it's time you came home." Falcon looked at Roy. "It doesn't matter whether or not you bring him with you. Just as long as you come back."

"Tell the master I have some business to take care of," Marth said. "Tell him I will be back soon."

But Falcon was shaking his head. "No, I don't think you understand. He _really _isn't happy. And he thinks I'm the one that told you where to find Roy."

"When I left, it wasn't with the intention of never returning. You have to explain this to him."

_"You_ explain it to him," Falcon said. "When the master's angry, there's gonna be consequences for all of us."

Marth was silent for a moment. "I'll come back," he said. "But not right now."

Falcon shook his head and took a step forward. Roy saw this and held up his sword. "Back off!" he said fiercely. Falcon stopped and ran his eyes over the three of them. He seemed to do a mental calculation of his odds. Evidently he came up short because he shifted his stance and stepped back.

"I'm not responsible for you," Falcon said. "Whatever the master does to you, it's off my hands. Just remember he knows where the find you. Next time I won't be alone." He turned and started walking.

"Screw the master!" Roy shouted after him. "Tell him to stop being a coward and come face us himself!"

Falcon paused and looked over his shoulder. "I'll deliver that message to him, Roy." He turned and walked away.

"What a bastard," Roy murmured.

"You don't know what you're saying, Roy," Marth said.

"What, is he dangerous?"

"The master? No. At least I don't think so."

"Then we have nothing to worry about." He said this with more confidence than Marth felt.


	8. chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. It's very much appreciated.

-

I got up in the morning, took my pills and went to work. I got back home sometime in the evening and jacked in to see how things were going, if Falcon had any news for me yet.

It turned out it wasn't good news.

"So basically," I told him, "you got your ass kicked by a faggot, and now you have nothing for me."

"I said I'd find him," he replied. "I never said I'd bring him back."

"What good is that to me?"

"Send more of us next time."

I sighed. "And how am I supposed to do that? Everyone's gone. It's the off season."

Technically, I could send Sheik and Peach to back Falcon up. That would make things even. But that didn't seem like a good idea to me. That left no one to look after the house. And both Peach and Zelda were probably too sympathetic to Marth to do an effective job.

Marth leaving was about as bad as if Peach had left. Like her, he had been with me since the beginning. Did I believe he would return? Yes. That wasn't the point. The point was that anyone leaving had to get my permission first. I still didn't know how he got out in the first place. I never expected him to break the rules. I expected nothing less from Roy. But Marth….

"Is that all?" Falcon asked.

I waved him off. He turned to leave.

"Just a minute. What was it you said about Roy losing his memory?"

"That's what Marth said."

"All right."

Falcon left.

There were things Roy could take that would do that to him. The question was whether it had been a complete wipe, or if traces still remained. That determined whether or not he was still salvageable. And whether or not he was still salvageable determined when Marth was coming back.

It was a complicated situation. I would not have been dealing with it in the first place if I had been careful. When the whole thing between them first started, it had creeped the fuck out of me. And pissed me off. Crazy thought it was cute. I thought it was unnatural. "Marth and Roy" was not supposed to happen. Even now I couldn't figure out what I did wrong.

I should have broken it up when the first signs started showing. I could have canceled the contract with Roy and offered him money to leave. Kill the whole thing before it got too big for me to contain. I was paying for my mistake now.

I still hadn't figured out what to do when there was a knock at my door. "Come in," I called. What now?

In walked Samus, dressed in dirty bloodstained armor. She removed her helmet. "Good thing you're here," she said.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"We've got a little infestation problem. The Re-Dead are coming up from that well in the back."

"Take care of it," I said.

"We are. But they'll keep coming back unless we take more serious measures."

"Do whatever you have to do," I told her dismissively.

"Master, if I may…" a new voice interrupted us. Zelda glided into the room. Standing next to Samus she looked amazingly clean.

"I believe I have found the source of the problem," Zelda announced with an inclination of her head.

"Yeah?" I prompted.

"It's you."

I stared at her. "Me."

"Yes. Your absence calls them here. When you are present, it scares them away. We were fighting them a little while ago. Then suddenly, they all withdrew. I think it's because you arrived. Whenever you are gone, more of them appear. When you are here, their numbers recede."

"Makes sense," Samus said.

"To solve the problem," Zelda continued, "you must come here more often and stay longer."

"Great," I muttered sarcastically. Where was I going to find the time? In between working and drinking myself to death and counting the cracks on the walls of my apartment, I didn't have time for this. "I don't play this game anymore."

"I beg your pardon?" Zelda said.

"Nothing. I understand the situation. Thanks for informing me. If that's all, you're dismissed."

Samus raised an eyebrow, but turned to leave. Zelda bowed sagely and followed. I was left alone.

They would never understand how difficult it was for me to be there. They didn't know that I lived off of hourly wages and borrowed money. They didn't know that I had bills to pay. They didn't see me getting drunk every other night and walking the streets of cyberspace that way, taking pills and playing Minesweeper until dawn. They didn't know that I rarely left my room if not for work.

There was a lot about me they didn't know.

They didn't know about the panic attacks when Sage left. Or rather, when I left her. Or whatever. They didn't know about the pills. They didn't know about the emails I canceled before I could send them, the half-dialed phone calls. The days I slept through. The nights I stayed awake. The long road to the edge of insanity.

They didn't know and they didn't know.

Seems like these days I did nothing but work. On my off time I'd rather be vegetating than gaming, dreaming about better days. I didn't play or battle much anymore. That was because, these days, I kept losing. I had lost my touch. I couldn't keep a cool head anymore. Whenever the pressure built up from competition, I went a little bit on edge, a little closer to losing it. I always fucked up at that point. Two years ago I took a break from the tournaments to get my head cleared. I hadn't gone back since. My heart wasn't in it anymore.

Since then, things at the house have been good at times, bad at times, like a never ending cycle. I had good days and bad days. _We _had good days and bad days.

But they had been there, hadn't they? I couldn't deny that. When I lost Sage, my life fell apart. I had nothing left, and all I could do was jack in and play. I trained them. We battled in the amateur circuits. At our best, we had been unstoppable.

No matter how shitty my life was, the fact remained that I owed them. Which was why I had to get Marth back, for everyone's sake. I had to keep this house from falling down.

x x x

The smell of almonds followed her out into the hallway. Peach was cooking. Samus smiled to herself as she walked down the long line of identical doors. She picked one at random and opened it.

She stepped into the ruins of Hyrule Temple.

Unlike the dark interior of the hallway, the sky was a peaceful blue. Samus shut the door behind her and walked out across the stone floor. It took her a moment before she realized that she wasn't alone. In the distance, on the highest point, there was a figure practicing snap kicks.

Samus stood for a moment and just watched as Sheik threw powerful kicks into the air. When the Hylian stopped, she turned and saw that Samus was watching. The bounty hunter raised a hand in greeting. Sheik jumped down to meet her.

"How about a match?" Sheik asked.

Samus was out of her suit. That left her at a disadvantage, though it would probably be a good idea to get some training without it.

"All right."

They backed off to a sufficient distance. Samus stretched out her limbs. They both settled into stances.

"Fighting off the undead yesterday wasn't good enough of a workout for you?" Samus asked.

"Hardly."

Sheik came in with a low kick, which Samus blocked with both arms. She could barely react before Sheik planted and spun her other leg around in a kick aimed for the head. Samus ducked and backed up, creating space. Another furious kick came at her at lightning speed. She blocked and returned it with a punch to the chest, which Sheik was able to take without much trouble.

Sheik continued on the offensive, throwing Samus into a defensive position. Samus tried to shut off all conscious thought, to give up entirely to the part of herself that was most like a machine, that could only block hits, take hits, and seek out an opponent's weaknesses.

Most of the time, Samus had no problem summoning up the mindless fighting machine. But this time, something was off. As she dodged the skillful and precise motions of her opponent, she found herself trying to picture the Hylian princess in the body of the sheikah warrior. They were both one and same. Somewhere in Sheik's powerful punches and kicks, there was Zelda's grace. So why couldn't she see the two as one?

Samus ducked under another kick to the head. She lashed out with a punch about a second too late. Sheik dodged easily and came back with another attack. Samus was back on the defensive.

Zelda was always careful about when she was Sheik and when she was Zelda. Samus watched her carefully and waited for the change.

But the change didn't come.

Samus wondered if it was easier to stay as Sheik. Did Sheik feel the same things as Zelda? Was Sheik disappointed that Link didn't show up like he had promised in his letter?

Were they two people or one?

Samus had met up with Link only days ago on a houseboat in Termina. The old man at the potion shop had pointed her in the direction of the bay, saying that a young man who matched Link's description had been staying there. So she met him there and delivered Zelda's letter. He had read the entire thing in silence, before sitting down to compose one of his own. He had handed it to Samus with an utterly sincere look that she didn't doubt him.

Now Samus regretted not dragging him back home by the collar.

Who knew, maybe he had to save the world again.

A kick to the legs swept her feet out from under her and jarred Samus from her thoughts. The ground slammed against her back so hard she forgot the tuck in her head and knocked it against the stones. The world blurred and spun.

Sheik backed off and bowed out. The match was over.

Samus rubbed her head and stood up. She must have been really out of practice for battling without her suit.

"You were distracted," Sheik said.

"Maybe just out of shape," Samus replied.

"You did well."

"No. You wiped the floor with me."

Sheik considered her for a moment. Then she settled back against the wall. She pulled down her mask. At that moment, she was neither Sheik nor Zelda, but something in between. Samus couldn't decide which one.

"Samus," she said, and the voice was neither that of the sheikah nor that of a Hylian princess. It was that of a wholly different being. Samus had never heard it before.

"Can you please tell me what you think of this house?"

"Of this house?"

"Yes." Her eyes were on the ground, serious. She looked incredibly tired. "Is it…" She fought for words. "Does it…measure up? As a life's work?"

Samus didn't answer right away. She glanced around the temple. The house had many parts to it, many rooms. It could be anything: a racetrack, a dream world, a ruined temple. Many different people called it home: heroes, villains and sidekicks. The house was many different things.

"I think," Samus said, "it's a work in progress. It changes and adapts. It's made up of whatever we put into it. Whatever happens, I think it will survive."

Sheik/Zelda stood completely still. Then she raised her head and looked off at the horizon. Samus wondered if she had said the right thing.

"Thank you."

There was too much pain in it though.

In a parallel universe, Samus stepped out of her shell. She went and put her arms around the Hylian princess-sheikah warrior. Held her. She gave the right answer. She went out and found the Hero of Time and dragged him all the way home.

But in this universe, the only one that existed, she only bowed, went to the door, and stepped out.


	9. chapter 8

A/N: I was in a bad mood when I wrote this. I think it shows.

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

Ganondorf's room was dark. The walls were lined with swords, weapons and books. I caught the distinct medicinal scent of herbs when I stepped inside. He put down the book he was reading and stood up from his armchair. He bowed.

"Master."

The smirk was plain on his face.

I ignored it.

"I need something from you," I said without preamble.

"Yes?"

"A potion," I said. "Something to cure memory loss."

x x x

Sometimes, after they had been together, he was sick. Pain and humiliation gnawed at the pit of his stomach. He would kneel in the bathroom and vomit, heaving, panting. Relief would flood his senses afterwards, but only temporarily. Deep down, the sickness never really left him.

That was the way things were when he was with Roy. Marth had gotten used to it. He had lost sense of who he was.

"_If we're gonna keep doing this, you could at least pretend to enjoy it."_

He was no good at those kinds of lies. His body would betray him. It always did.

He hadn't considered the cost until he had to face himself in the mirror one day. That dead, used-up look was his own. What remained of his honor was fading, fading because even after the sickness, he always went back.

The tension between them had been real since the first day. When it finally broke, it had killed so many possibilities while setting others in stone. Marth had then yet to realize just how far he could fall. He didn't hit bottom for a long time.

They beat each other mercilessly in training; they talked sometimes, usually into the early morning hours; they saw each other behind the Master's back. They became almost-friends, but not. They became…something else entirely.

Roy was many things. He was a fighter who trained long and hard only to fall short of his goal. He would never be a champion. At times, he was just a kid who could barely touch Marth's hand. But Roy could be a monster too, and Marth was trapped between the two.

Eventually, things rose to critical mass, the breaking point. Roy had to take his frustrations out on someone.

"Your problem," Roy had said once, "is that empty look on your face. I can't stand your face. You never seem to show any expressions except for pain. The only time I know you're not some kind of a doll is when I'm hurting you."

"I am not a masochist," Marth had replied.

"Then quit acting like one. Quit letting people take advantage of you."

"No one takes advantage of me."

"Oh no?" This was said with sarcasm, followed by a sigh. "And once again you ruin the mood."

The next day after an argument, Roy would be smiling again, telling jokes, reaching out to take his hand. This usually lasted a day or two. Until something bad happened. Then it was back to the inexplicable anger, his dissatisfaction with himself, with Marth, with everything.

Right before he left, Roy was in one of his bad moods. He shied away from all physical contact. Marth had tried to find out what was wrong.

"I'm sorry," he had said. "If it's because of me, I'm sorry." When Roy didn't respond, Marth reached out to him. Roy roughly pushed him back.

"Go away. I don't want you."

The next day, Roy left. Marth nursed his pain quietly to himself and wondered if he would ever have to be sick again.

x x x

The fire crackled. Marth turned to Roy, who was sitting next to him, staring into the depths of the flames.

"I've decided," Marth said.

Roy turned to him. "Decided what?"

"Maybe you _are_ better off this way. Without your memory.

"Maybe we can be friends this time."

x x x

Following Falcon's map, I walked the path up the hillside. Up ahead, I could see the crumbling structure of the shrine. Smoke billowed from a hole in the roof.

Pichu shifted weight on my shoulder.

The landfill sat to my right. A few crows circled overhead, hopped through the trash, rummaging. Pitfall had its own stench. I smelled it no matter where I was in that disgusting place. The farther uphill I went though, the less the odor bothered me.

It was cold, and the sky looked like it would rain. Only my black coat kept me from freezing.

"The sooner we get this over with," I said to Pichu, "the sooner we can get out of this shithole." He chu-ed in reply.

I reached the shrine. There didn't seem to be anyone around. I stepped through the doorway.

And almost wished I had knocked.

They sat close together by the fire, centimeters away from a kiss.

"Shit!"

They turned and looked at me. Marth's eyes widened. Roy just stared. They both rose to their feet.

"Who the hell are you?" Roy asked.

"Master…" Marth said.

I crossed my arms and gave him a stone look. Roy glanced between Marth and me. "Master…" he murmured. His hand went for his sword.

"Pichu!" I called. The rodent leapt down from my shoulder and crouched in front of me in an attack-ready stance, electric pouches buzzing.

Roy had his sword drawn, but Marth stepped in front of him.

"No need for violence," he said firmly. "I'd rather just talk about this."

I nodded. "Agreed." I stared at Roy, who wasn't moving to put away his sword. Marth turned and guided his hand to sheath the sword. I called Pichu back. He scrambled up my leg, torso, and back onto my shoulder.

Marth tried to speak. "Master, I-"

But I cut him off. "You should have known better." My voice sounded harsh. It was meant to. "Out of everyone, I trusted you the most."

"Everyone leaves," he said. "Just for a little while. It's normal. That's what you told me." His voice was soft, easing the conversation away from a verbal battle. Marth was a diplomat. He didn't need the sword to get himself out of bad situations. I was convinced he knew how to talk himself out of trouble.

"You know the rules," I said.

He bowed. "I apologize for my actions. I was out of line."

I sighed. He knew just what to say. And I hadn't thought it out this far. I had nothing planned, no course of action.

"I'm not going to punish you, Marth," I said wearily. "I'm just tired of running around trying to keep track of everyone. I'll overlook this transgression if you come back with me now."

He kept his head bowed. "Master, if I may, I would now like to ask for that extended leave of absence."

"You're pushing it," I snapped.

Marth was silent. Roy looked on as if he did not approve.

"Who are you," Roy challenged, "to be giving orders like that?"

Good fucking question.

"I'm Marth's master," I told him. "I am yours as well, even if you don't remember that."

"I don't serve anyone but myself," Roy said.

"Really? Cuz I have a contract that says otherwise."

I produced it from a pocket, stepped forward and handed it to him. He snatched the paper from my hand and looked it over. Then he gave it back.

"This means nothing to me," he said.

"Don't recognize your own signature anymore, Roy?" I folded the paper and placed it back into my pocket. "It doesn't matter. It was signed by you. I'm just here to remind you of your obligations."

"I have no obligations to you. We're in Pitfall. The rules are different here than they are at your house."

He had a point. There was no law here.

"Marth doesn't have to go with you either, if he doesn't want to," Roy continued.

"You wouldn't be so worried about him," I said, "if you remembered him. I remember asking you once if you cared for him. You said no. And I don't think you were lying.

"The two of you had a…well, complicated relationship. I don't think it was founded on love."

I looked at Marth. "I guess he must be a better person now that he doesn't remember what it was like for him to constantly lose to you."

Inside my pocket, my hand curled around a glass vial. The ace up my sleeve. It was the only card I had to play. I pulled it out and tossed it into the air. It glimmered by the firelight. Roy caught it in his hand.

"Consider it a gift. I give you your memories back."

I heard a slight intake of breath from Marth. I had guessed correctly.

"As for you…" I turned to Marth. "You have a day. If you're not back by the end of tomorrow, then you might as well not come back at all."

I turned and walked away.


	10. roy

He had woken up with a start. It was the first thing he remembered. His heart was racing, and he didn't know why. He was in a strange room, lit by a small glowing lamp, empty except for a few personal artifacts. He didn't know who they belonged to. He didn't know where he was. And then he came to realize that he didn't know _who_ he was.

The first few moments were panicked. When he saw there was nothing around that could harm him, he finally calmed down. He tried to think. He was alone and there was no one to help him.

He found a broken mirror lying by the sword with an elaborate hilt. He didn't recognize the reflection. It was the face of a teenaged boy with wild red hair. He didn't know him.

He spent a long time just sitting there, thinking and trying to remember. But he couldn't come up with anything. He could remember nothing prior to waking up there. It was as if he had not existed. His life was a blank.

The things in the room with him yielded no clues. Besides the sword, there was body armor and a red cape. He picked up the armor in his hands; he ran his fingers through the fabric of the cape. Still no recognition in his mind. He only knew these were things a fighter would have.

He stepped outside into the black night. He sat by the doorway of the old shrine, head in his hands, waiting for something to happen, for his memory to return. Dawn had arrived, lightening the overcast sky, and he still did not know who he was, where he had come from, why he was there.

Eventually, he came down from the hillside and went into the city. He wandered the streets. The place looked like it was decaying. There was a crazy on every street corner. Quivering forms huddled in dark blankets in the alleys, muttering to themselves. One of them attacked him, a thin man with illegible words written in black marker on his face. He had fought back, had known exactly where and how to strike to bring the man down. Since then he was never without his sword.

It was the fight that brought something back to him. Not anything as tangible as a memory, but instead an inexplicable feeling of familiarity.

It was the only thing he had. He found no one he recognized, and no one seemed to recognize him.

On his second day of wandering though, he came upon something. He had entered a tunnel that led into an underground arena. A loud crowd had gathered there. At its center was a cleared space where two combatants were fighting.

He had stopped to watch as the two fighters traded hits, knuckles bared, blood and sweat flying. Something came back to him then. It was like fighting the man on the street all over again. It was a sensation gnawing at his gut, urging him to go out and sink his teeth into something, tear it apart. He suddenly felt a rush of energy.

He wanted a fight.

One of the men in the ring went down. The match was over. Money exchanged hands—the losers paid the winners. They were calling for another contestant. The blind animal in his system took over. He pushed his way through the crowd and stepped into the ring.

They thought very little of him at first. A few chuckled. Here was a kid trying to play a man's game.

Bets were placed. At the sound of a bell, the match began.

He dodged a strong punch and delivered a hard kick to his opponent's head. It connected. The man went down. And didn't get up.

Dead silence filled the arena. He looked at his fallen opponent with a bit of remorse. The fight was still in him. He wanted to break something, but his opponent was already broken. The match was over.

The crowd parted away for him when he went to collect his prize money. Their whispers followed him. For the first time since waking up at the shrine, he smiled as the greasy coins trickled into his hands.

They didn't know. Hell, he didn't even know. He had the body of someone who had built muscle, trained hard, tasted bitterness.

He was back the next night and the following night. He fought. He made money. It left him with the feeling of hard satisfaction. His body burned.

And just when he was starting to believe he could live like that forever, a prince showed up at the shrine—a prince with blue hair and deep eyes, carrying a sword. He came with stories from the past. He claimed that they both had a master, that they were fighters for a great house. They had battled in tournaments in the past; they had fought side by side.

He even gave him a name.

Roy didn't question his motives. When he showed up, Roy had felt something. Like the feeling of familiarity whenever he fought, the sensation hit him in the center of his body. But whereas the other feeling was energizing, this one was calming. He felt at peace. It felt like home.

He knew then that if he kept Marth with him, he would always feel like this.

So now he sat on the floor of the shrine, by the soft glow of the oil lamp. Marth slept on the mat across from him. Directly in front of him, sat the small glass vial of dark liquid the Master had given him.

He wondered now just what version of the truth Marth had told him about his past. He stared at the vial. The Master's motives were less clear than Marth's. The Master was not a friend. Were these to be happy memories he would unlock? But if he had been happy, he probably wouldn't have swallowed the pill.

Roy picked up the vial. He held it up to the dim light, tilted it, and watched the liquid slide.

He had to make a decision.

x x x

On the day Marth was supposed to come back according to the Master's ultimatum, Link arrived at the house.

He placed his hands on the large, heavy doors and pushed them open. A bell rang, echoing through the chambers of the house. He stepped inside, boots sounding hollow against the floor.

It had been months since he had last stayed here.

It was quiet. The lighting was low. He wondered if everyone was still asleep, though it was already late in the day.

The far door into the hallway opened. It was Peach who stepped through, uttering a small gasp when she saw who had arrived.

"Link!"

Tiredly, he offered a smile. The princess ushered him down the hall and into the sitting room, where she practically threw him onto the sofa and told him to wait, she'd be right back. She took off in a hurry.

The Smash House was a world away from the world. Its location was remote enough to be removed from the troubles of the world outside. When there weren't battles to be fought, or tournaments to attend, it could be a nice place to for world-weary adventurers to stay in peace and quiet.

Link stood up, uncomfortable sitting. The shield on his back came off, set down on the floor, followed by the sword. He went to the mirror and checked his appearance. It struck him then that he seemed more than a little worn out. The tunic had taken a beating. He had earned another scar, just barely visible on his neck. He was surprised at the tired look on his face. Maybe he should have come back sooner.

It couldn't be helped. When someone needed help, it seemed that Link was the first one they called. And Link, being Link, never turned anyone down.

He heard the sound of light approaching footsteps. He turned from the mirror. Zelda stood in front of him, beautiful in lavender. She was carefully composed, but a tremor of emotion stood out. It looked like relief written on her face.

"Link," she said, coming forward, "it is so good to see you."

She came and took his hand in two of hers. She smiled, running her eyes over him. He was able to meet her eyes, though uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He realized he looked like something that had crawled out of the woods, and there she stood before him, a princess….

Before he could say a word, Zelda forgot about her restraint for a moment and threw her arms around his neck. He gently wrapped his arms around her.

"I missed you," she confessed.

x x x

Her breathing was ragged. Samus grunted as she took a blow to the chest. It knocked her onto her back, but she placed a hand against the floor and pushed herself up. The last wire frame wasn't going down without a fight.

A kick flew passed her head as she twisted out of the way. She dashed forward and smashed it in the stomach with her fist. It took the hit and fell off stage. But it recovered.

She kept it back with a flurry of punches and kicks. She rammed it with her shoulder, throwing it off stage again. It jumped back on. She blocked a kick, threw punches to its head. It knocked her back. She stumbled but didn't fall. She put some more distance between them as it tried to advance. Then she charged at it, slamming her entire body into it. The wire frame flew off the stage, into the darkness. It didn't come back this time.

She paused to catch her breath. Someone was clapping. She turned her head.

It was Captain Falcon, standing at the edge of the stage. The cosmos flew by around him.

"Not bad," he said. "Especially since you're missing your suit."

She shrugged. "I don't suppose you'd like a match?"

"Not right now," he said.

"All right."

She made to walk past him to the exit. He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Did you hear that Link is back?"

She nodded. "Of course. Heard it from Peach."

"Well?"

She stared at him, apprehensive. "Well, what?" she said. It sounded defensive, even to her. She knew exactly what he was getting at.

Falcon's face was unreadable behind the mask. "I wonder if you've had any more private time with the princess to tell her how you feel."

"We are not having this conversation," Samus snapped.

Falcon was silent a moment. "I guess I was right about you," he said. "You're better at being a bounty hunter than you are at being human."

"We don't always get what we want in life, Falcon."

"Why not?" he asked. "I've known you a while, Sam. I'd be surprised to see you back down from anything. Life's all about getting what you want out of it, isn't it?"

"No, it's not," she said quietly. "Life's about doing what you have to do, not what you want to do."

"Uh huh. I feel like I've had this conversation before. Not with you though."

"No?"

"With Roy," he mused. "I wonder if that kid's got the sense knocked into him yet."

Samus was grateful for the subject change. "So you think there's a chance?"

"For you and the princess? Sure."

"No, for Marth and Roy." Her tone sounded defeated. It had been such a long time since she had tasted defeat that she had forgotten what it felt like.

"Who knows with those two." Falcon shrugged. "But Roy's got an excuse for fucking up. He's inexperienced. You ain't got no excuse."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, looking away. "She's the princess of Hyrule. I'm no one. Just Samus Aran."

"That's right," Falcon said. "She's the princess of a kingdom that no longer exists, and you're the Metroid killer."

"You know what I mean."

"What I know is that everyone around here is acting like they've got some kind of a disease. No one's acting right. Everyone's got to complicate everything."

"Really," she said. "You think it's that simple? What about Link?"

Silence from Falcon.

"That's what I thought," she murmured. "You have nothing to say." She took a breath. "I'll bet it's not easy being the Hero of Time. I'm not going to make things worse for him by putting the moves on his girl." She moved past him for the door. "We're friends. That's all. I'm fine with that."

The cosmos and all its stars disappeared when she stepped outside the room. She leaned against the wall and took a breath. She wasn't sure how much of her own words she actually believed.

She was friends with both Zelda and Link. Things would stay that way.

Samus walked down the hallway, heading for her room. She turned the corner and noticed a group had gathered up ahead. They were in front of the Master's door.

Ness and the Iceclimbers were there, staring at the door. Included in the group were Kirby, the Pokemon, Peach, Zelda and Link. Samus noticed that Marth was back, standing in front of the group, by the door.

"What's going on here?" asked a voice from behind her. Falcon.

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

As they got closer, Samus was surprised to find that sitting in front of the group, his back against the door, with a confident smirk on his face, was Roy. Then she noticed the huge banner-like sign posted on the door.

It was written in Roy's hand.

"What's up?" Falcon asked Peach.

"The Master's going to be angry," she said.

"Huh?"

"It's a challenge," Samus said, reading the poster. "A formal challenge over the rights to the house." She turned to Marth. "What's the meaning of this?"

He looked down, somewhat embarrassed. "Roy is challenging the Master to a battle. He's going to sit by the door and wait for him to arrive."

"Over the rights to the house?" Samus pressed. _And to all of us?_ she thought.

"Yes," Marth said. "The winner becomes master."

_Roy…_ Samus turned her eyes to him. He was smiling. "How's it going, Samus?" he asked.


	11. the other roy

"Roy," I said, "I'm willing to overlook this. Just withdraw your stupid challenge, and we can go on with our lives."

Seated at the other side of my desk, his eyes gleamed dangerously. A reckless grin was plastered on his face. It was the same kind of brashness that had cost him so many battles. I did not intend on losing this one.

"Once a challenge has been issued, it can't be withdrawn," he said. "You know that. That's your own rule."

In the privacy of my room, he thought nothing of talking to me as if we were equals. We were not. I would remind him of that shortly.

"This is an exception," I told him. "You're not qualified to become a master."

"I am."

"No, Roy, you're not."

"I'm as qualified as you are!" he declared.

I almost sneered. "That's funny," I said humorlessly. He obviously had no clue what he was saying. A pawn doesn't control the game. It was that simple. "Do I have to explain it to you?" I asked. "You can't forget what station you were born into."

That should have been the end of it. But Roy was unfazed. There was a confidence in his eyes that bothered me. He knew the rules. He knew what he was. There should have been no debate on the issue.

But Roy was looking at me as if he knew something I didn't.

"What is it you're not telling me?" I asked.

With that knowing grin on his face: "You don't know what I am. Not at all. I'm just like you."

I felt a chill. My real body was reacting so strongly I could feel it through the simulation. Reality distorted for a bit. Then it settled down. But something was wrong. The way he'd said that….

"I know exactly what you are," I said with false calm. "You're the one who seems confused."

He broke out into laughter, as if he could not contain himself. My eyes narrowed. Something was up. The laughter took too long to die down. When it did, he fixed his eyes on mine with stern determination. We glared at each other for a while. I tried to keep calm.

"Listen," he said. There was dead seriousness in his voice. _"I am exactly like you."_

I kept my eyes on his. There was something I wasn't getting.

I froze when it finally hit me. Another chill went through me. I realized I had been stupid. Very, very stupid not to have seen it earlier.

---

He had hacked into the Net battlers' community because he'd had nothing better to do. There, he had assumed control of Roy, one of the free-roaming fighting characters battlers could recruit onto their teams. He reprogrammed Roy to learn off of his actions, and snuck into the Master's house as an AI-controlled fighter. Then, he decided to have some fun.

It was interesting having a character that could go on and do things when he wasn't there. He didn't have to go and level up if he didn't want to. The Master, when he trained Roy, would do it for him. Shortly after joining up, he jacked in and found out that he already had some decent numbers on his skills chart. But he wasn't there for the fights. If he had been, he could have just registered with the community and started his own house. He was looking for something else. Even he didn't know what.

He liked talking to them. He liked helping them plant trees and flowers in their fake world, liked sitting with them and watching movies, liked drinking beer and listening to their stories. He liked venturing into the underground mazes beneath the house, hunting re-dead. He liked piloting a starfighter into the depths of space, liked fishing in a pristine bay. He liked running from bad guys, slicing through aliens and robots, searching for mystic jewels on distant worlds, and making it back in time for dinner.

It was strange seeing how the game continued even after the Master had logged off. Each character went on with their daily routines, even though no human player was supposedly there to see it. "Roy" came to realize how much an imaginary world could mimic real life. All of his senses were fooled. Without the characters displaying themselves as AI or human, he couldn't tell which was which.

They were without human prejudice, completely devoid of judgment. Better than the classmates who had made fun of him. Better than his demanding parents.

He didn't have to worry about the fact that he had just failed another science test, that he might never make it into college. It didn't matter that his job sucked. In this world, he was a hardened brawler, a champion of justice, a saver of worlds. He shared a body with Roy of Pharae. In this world, he almost forgot his real name.

There was just one thing he thought this world couldn't offer him. Just one thing.

But it proved him wrong the day he stumbled on the Altean prince meditating alone at the Fountain of Dreams, the day he realized just why he harbored such hatred for his partner….

---

I scanned him. The information came back normal. AI, non-human. Impossible that he could be—

Roy burst out into uncontrollable laughter again.

I stared at him.

"I have to thank you for that potion," he said.

"What?"

"It restored me. Seems the AI ran off to Pitfall and downloaded something that blocked me. I had no control over it at that time. If it weren't for your potion, I would probably still be blocked."

I blinked. The situation had become unreal. Could it be….

"It was trying to break free," I said slowly, like a realization.

"Huh?"

"It was trying to break free from _you."_

"I don't see why it'd want to do that."

I continued to stare haplessly. "So you…you infiltrated my house."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

I glared at him. He glared back.

"Now you see," he said. "I'm as qualified to be a master of this house as you are."

"You're not taking over my house."

"You're not backing down from a challenge."

I growled. He smiled. He had a point.

"Why don't you get out of my house and get a life or something?" I said. "Instead of acting as someone else's ideal of a hero. Are you so lame that you can't come up with your own character? Do you have to be Roy? Get a life. Get a girlfriend. Something."

"Already got one," he returned.

I sighed. "Yeah, about that," I said. "You need to explain that one to me. What the fuck is up with you two?"

"You're a real dumbass if you _still_ need that explained to you."

I smacked myself on the forehead. I couldn't keep in a laugh. It was too funny. "I don't believe it," I murmured. "I don't fucking believe it."

"What's there to not believe?" he said defensively.

"You're in love," I stated. "With a motherfucking_ computer."_

"Got a problem with that?"

I laughed out loud. "Do _I_ have a problem with it? _You're_ the one who should have a problem with it."

"I'm perfectly fine with it. Love is love."

"You're a human being," I said. "Marth is a computer. There's a significant difference."

He rolled his eyes. "And that," he said, "is why you've gone as far as you're gonna go as master of this house."

"Because I'm not delusional?"

"Because you don't believe in this." He waved his hand around, indicating the room. "You don't believe in any of it. And you don't believe in _them._ It's just a game to you."

"Of course it's just a game. What else would it be?"

He shook his head. "And you wonder why you keep losing." He tapped his temple. "You're okay up here." Lowering his hand, he touched his chest. "It's down here that you're missing."

"What the fuck are you getting at?

"Your soul is projected into the things around you. Your work is a mirror that reflects it. An inanimate object like a child's toy reflects the soul of the owner.

"It's not just a game," he finished. "It's an art-form."

"You're delusional," I said.

"Can you tell the difference between a game and real life?"

"Sure," I told him. "A game has no consequences for failure."

But he was shaking his head. "If something acts alive, if it passes all the tests for life, if it, by all of our senses, is perceived to be alive, how can you tell that it is not alive?"

"Whatever," I murmured. "No matter how sophisticated a computer is, it's still just a machine. Electrons running a circuit, that's all."

"And you're what?" he said. "A collection of neurons firing action potentials?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "I failed biology." Something occurred to me then. I looked up and fixed him with a stare. "There are tests," I said, "psychological tests, that can distinguish between an AI and a human." He stared back at me. "Take one," I said. "If you pass, I'll agree to your little challenge."

---

The first time he had tried to sneak in a kiss, Marth had gracefully turned his head a few centimeters to the side, leaving him hanging in empty air. Then, without a word, Marth had brushed passed him for the door of the training stage. "Roy" was left alone to grumble in frustration.

The Master, who thought he knew everything, would never understand. The thing between them was at times tangible, at times fleeting.

Though he knew about them, the Master didn't know the details.

He had a good idea of exactly what the Master had been getting at with his questions. The Master didn't need anything "explained" to him. He was asking a simpler question: Just how far had it gone between them? Man and machine?

The Master wouldn't like the answer.

The first time it happened, it had been sudden. He had taken non-resistance to mean consent. Because it was his first time, he was clumsy, and the encounter was brief. Then he had promptly run away as fast and as far as he could go.

He jacked out and woke up among the tangle of wires. He stumbled into the bathroom to clean himself up. Then he spent the next half hour curled up on the floor crying.

He didn't jack in again for at least a week.

When he finally did go back, he found that the AI Roy had done better in his absence than he could have. Marth was significantly less cold to him than normal. But he couldn't follow up on it.

He snapped and bullied. Marth took it all in silence, sometimes paying him little more than a haughty look, a glance of the eyes, before ignoring him. They were often like this. One day hot, the next day cold. His one and only haven had become a hell of his own making.

Thinking about women didn't help. Nothing did. It was useless trying to become aroused by the thought of Peach, Zelda, or Samus. He tried though. He really did. But in his mind, the picture always shattered, leaving him cold and numb.

He wanted to like women. He couldn't. As much as he tried, he couldn't change that. But if he could, he'd rewrite his internal programming. Or else, edit out his desire completely, and leave things alone with whatever empty shell of a being was left. If only he knew the code. Things would have been easier that way. He wouldn't have to wake up, tangled in wires, body drenched in sweat, disgust and loathing eating away at him from the inside. He wouldn't have to put any more holes in the walls every time he thought about it.

Had he been more perceptive, he would have realized that Marth had something to teach him about himself. As it was, he was too busy trying to gain the upper hand. In the end, "Roy" had to come to terms with himself. He couldn't exist always fighting his nature. But would take a long time before he reached a state even remotely resembling acceptance.

He decided that defeating the Master, claiming what should be his, would be his first step.

---

"'Because it never rains--'" I said.

"I never carry an umbrella," he finished.

"'I am happiest when--'"

"I am winning the game."

"'Most politicians--'"

"Are liars."

"'Like other men, I--'"

"Am a complete asshole."

And so on. There were over a hundred other questions. He laughed at the pictures I showed him. When I told him to make up stories for each one, he did, but they were all dirty. Either he was sex-obsessed, or he was doing it to piss me off. I was betting on the latter.

When we were finished, I had Mewtwo scan him and run it along with the test results.

They came back human. Slightly inclined towards anxiety disorders, but nevertheless, human.

"Roy" grinned at me. I simply stared at him.

My hands tightened into fists. I was the biggest fool in all of human history. I should have seen it before.

My past failure weighed down on me. I had lost to him before. Circumstances forced me to be honest with myself. I was no better now than I had been then.

I was not ready.

"Fine," I said, voice steady. "I accept your challenge. The fight will take place in two weeks."

"Will that be enough time for you? I know you're a little bit out of practice." He was mocking me.

"I doubt that'll be a problem." I walked past him.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"To find Marth."

He stopped me with a hand on my arm. Irritated, I shook him off.

"Wait--what! Wh-what are you going to tell him?" For the first time, I saw blank fear in his eyes. I decided that I preferred that look on him.

"Relax," I hissed. "I'm not going to tell him your little secret. I have other matters to discuss with him, and you're not invited. I really don't care what you guys do on your own time, as long as it doesn't affect your performance."

"You weren't like this before," he said, suspicious.

"The key phrase is: as long as it doesn't affect your performance."

I went to go find Marth.

He was at Pokemon Stadium, practicing sword forms.

"Master." He bowed. Always a show of respect. That was Marth's signature. I wondered for the first time if it was real.

_Of course it's real,_ I told myself. As real as it could be, anyway. Deception took a certain level of sophistication. It was a distinctly human trait.

But if something mimicked a human being well enough, who could say it wasn't in fact human? What was life anyway? Who was I to say that an AI couldn't be alive?

"I have a request," I said.

"Yes?"

"I've accepted Roy's challenge."

"I see," he said. "Would you really hand over the house to him if he wins?"

"Those are the rules," I muttered.

"Yes. They are." He looked at me, waiting.

"I want you to fight for me."

His eyes widened slightly. He started to speak, but I interrupted him.

"If Roy were to become master, you would have to suffer under his control," I said. "Fight for me this one last time. Do that, and win, and I'll set you free, if that's what you want."


	12. Chapter 11

A/N: After careful consideration, I have decided NOT to abandon this fic. This is only because someone asked me in a review if I was going to continue it. Then I felt as though it would be rude to the people who read this (no matter how few they are) to just abandon it. It's not perfect, it still makes me wince in places, but it's not totally horrible. So I'm going to try and finish it, if only for the fans. Thanks for your comments and support.

Disclaimer: _The following contains characters and concepts that are NOT the property of the author. They are the intellectual property of Nintendo, HAL Laboratories and their associates. The author has received NO monetary benefit from this piece of shit._

Chapter 11

"He can't do this to us!" Roy cried.

"He _is_ the Master," Marth said. He folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, head bowed.

Roy shot him a look. "How can you be so fucking calm?"

There was no answer from Marth.

Roy cursed. "I didn't go through all that trouble just to fight _you._ The whole point is that I get to beat on _his_ ass, and everyone gets to watch. Last time, no one said anything. They just went on like everything was normal. If I beat him again, they'll have to say something this time. Then _I'll_ be Master. I won't have to answer to anyone but myself."

Marth lifted his head. "Fighting me is no different than fighting him. The end result will be the same."

"What do you mean, it's no different? This is completely different!"

"Would you treat me differently than you would treat him?"

The question was spoken with a neutral tone. Those eyes were unreadable. Roy scowled, unsure of what to say. What did Marth want him to say?

"I don't want to fight you," he said.

"Will you back down from the challenge?"

"That's probably what he wants," Roy muttered. He ran a hand through his hair. "Goddamn it!"

"Those are your choices," Marth said. "Either fight me or back down."

"You're acting like you don't have a say in any of this."

"I don't," Marth replied.

"You do!" Roy said heatedly. "Stop acting like a mindless drone."

"I serve the Master."

"Of course," Roy hissed. If given the choice of either the Master or Roy, Marth would of course choose the Master, he thought with contempt. Did he have to take the title of Master in order to command the same loyalty from Marth?

"He was right about you," Marth said.

Roy glared at him.

"I would suffer too under your rule," Marth whispered.

Roy went up to him. Marth was looking at the floor, blue bangs obscuring his eyes. Roy reached out with one hand, as if to touch him. But he stopped and seemed to change his mind. Instead, Roy made his hand into a fist, pulled back, and drove it into the wall next to Marth. The wood splintered and cracked. The fragments fell away, leaving a hole.

Marth brushed his hair out of his eyes, unfazed. He gave Roy a look. "Satisfied?" he asked.

"No," Roy said between clenched teeth.

Marth ran over him with his eyes. Then he glided away from the wall, toward the door of the dojo.

"Don't do it," Roy said.

Marth paused and looked behind him. They made eye contact. Then, without a word, Marth turned and slipped out the door.

---

ONE YEAR AGO

Stretched out on his back in the grass, he tucked his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He heard the sound of the door opening, then footsteps in the grass. He didn't have to look. He knew who it was.

"So this is where you are," said a calm voice.

"Someone wants me?" Roy asked.

"Yes. You were supposed to meet me at the dojo for practice."

"We train everyday," Roy muttered. "What does it matter if I miss one practice session?"

"You are expected to show up to practice according to your schedule."

"Expected?"

"By the Master. By me, your partner, and anyone else you might be training with."

Roy opened his eyes and turned his head to the side. He was staring at a pair of blue boots. He scanned upward until he met Marth's face.

"Question," Roy announced.

Marth simply blinked at him.

"Do you ever get tired of that line? I mean, with you it's always about the Master. The Master says this, the Master commands that. How come it's never about you?"

Marth turned away. "He owns this house, and so he owns all of us."

"I don't think so," Roy said, sitting up. "I signed a contract with him, meaning I have certain obligations to fulfill. That doesn't mean I signed my life over to him or anything."

"Maybe that's the way you choose to see it."

"It's the truth," Roy insisted.

Marth sighed. He turned back to Roy. "You fail to understand. I owe the Master a debt."

"Really," Roy said, his curiosity peaked. "How big of a debt?"

"It is fairly substantial."

"I see," Roy murmured. He thought about this. "So what would happen, if say, someone were to help you pay off that debt? What would you do then?"

"It is a life debt," Marth said. "It cannot be paid off until I am dead."

Roy stared at him steadily. Marth held the gaze for a few moments before turning to walk away. "If you refuse to train with me today," Marth commented, "there is nothing I can do."

Roy had to say something to make him stay. "It's not worth it," he called out to Marth's back.

Marth stopped and turned around. "What do you know of these things?" he challenged quietly.

"I know," Roy said. He looked out over the landscape, over the grass and the drop and the endless blue sky. He took a breath. He glanced to see if Marth was still there, and he was.

"You think there's something out there for us?" Roy asked. "I mean, after death."

Marth said nothing.

"You think we have souls?" Roy continued. "Do you think that's even a possibility? I'll tell you what I think. I don't think we do. We were created by lesser gods. Humans don't have the power to give anything a soul."

"Your point, Roy?"

"My point is that you shouldn't waste your life trying to pay back a debt. You'll run out of time. When it's over, it's over. You should just live life like it means something."

When Marth didn't respond, Roy tucked his hands behind his head and fell back against the grass. "Of course," he said, closing his eyes, "you don't have to listen to me."

A moment passed in silence, and then Marth murmured something beneath his breath. Roy opened his eyes and shifted them to the side. Marth was looking up at the sky. "Got something to say?"

"I said, 'Can a fool understand things that the learned man cannot?'"

"This fool can," Roy replied with a grin.

"It may be better to be a fool then." The grass shifted as Marth took a seat next to Roy on the ground. Roy repressed a triumphant smirk.

"But you get what I'm trying to say?" Roy asked. "Now is all we have."

"I can't accept that," Marth said quietly.

"Eh?"

Marth sighed. When he spoke, his tone was contemplative. "We were not created by humans, but by the universe itself. We _are_ the universe, the universe trying to understand itself. Because of this, everything that is material is tied to the spiritual. By putting together pieces of code, our makers were toying with the fabric of the universe. It is only natural to assume that this fabric can come together and give a soul to a being such as we are.

"We perceive the universe, so we contain the universe. We are the universe, so we must have souls. That is undeniable."

Roy laughed gently. "Okay, philosopher. You win. I can't argue with that."

Marth turned to him. "I've noticed that you have a tendency to yield to me before the fight is over, on and off the mat."

"I know when I'm outmatched," Roy said, pretending it didn't irk him that Marth had noticed.

Silence, and then, in a voice quieter than before, Marth said, "About last night…"

"Oh, that," Roy said dismissively. "Forget about that. Wasn't anything important, really. A mistake on my part." He forced a laugh, keeping his eyes on the sky above. "Let's forget it ever happened."

He watched the clouds go by in the simulated sky in the time it took Marth to reply.

"What if I don't wish to forget it?"

Roy sucked in a breath and held it. His pulse started racing. He couldn't turn to face Marth, not yet. It had only been a kiss. "Sometimes, I forget what I am," he said awkwardly. "I forget that I'm not really Roy of Pharae, and you're not really Marth of Altea. We're just carbon copies of historical figures with dabs of artistic license added onto our personalities. For the more intimate details they used someone else's real life memories. Neither of our lives is real."

"I remember my childhood," Marth said. "Outside the palace there grew these white flowers my sister used to pick and make garlands. The same flowers I scattered over her grave. I remember that most vividly."

Roy nodded. "Someone else's personal memory, tacked onto the historical facts of the real prince of Altea. I remember my childhood too. When I realized what I truly was, I felt cheated, my life stolen from me."

"It doesn't matter," Marth said. "Or it shouldn't. Even a fake flower is still something."

"But not a real flower."

Marth said nothing. The sky was starting to burn a hole in Roy's eyes, so he turned away from the brightness and sat up. He turned to Marth to make a comment about something, simulations within simulations, illusions upon illusions. But Marth silenced him by slipping his hand into Roy's.

"It isn't that I don't enjoy your company," Marth said without looking at him. "It isn't that I don't know what it is to have feelings. It's just that I have obligations that cannot be ignored."

"Do whatever makes you happy."

"If only it were that simple."

Roy lifted Marth's hand, turned it, and kissed the inside of the wrist. Marth pulled away. He rose to his feet.

"I'll see you at practice tomorrow," he said to Roy, turning to leave.

"Sure," Roy responded, his voice thick.

When Marth left, he couldn't go back to staring at the clouds. The peaceful summertime had been significantly disturbed. _Maybe,_ he thought to himself, _one of these days…_

As long as he could keep his other personality at bay…


End file.
